The Night King
by Jessica Cornell
Summary: The Night King takes Sansa during the Battle of Winterfell.
1. Chapter 1

**So beyond disappointed in the Night King's ending on last episode. I know I'm probably the only one but it just seemed to rushed and we didn't even get to know anymore about him. It was years of build up with a super quick death. Anyways, I've had this idea in my head for some time now, ever since I read something about how the Night King became the Night King (from the books I think). I will be taking liberties with facts because this is, well, fanfiction and not canon.**

**Also I'm well aware that his name is actually spelled Night's King, but I'm not going to do that. Just not.**

**By the way, the Night King I prefer was the first one not the newer one. He just looked waaaay cooler. His lips were great too, haha.**

Arya's vision blurred, her throat being slowly crushed by the Night King. She'd failed. The knife fell from her grip and into the snow, she presumed, darkness tinging the edges of her sight.

His face was terrifying, eyes inhuman blue, skin twisted and cold. Distantly she thought, Of all the faces the God of Death wears, this one's the ugliest.

Suddenly, something red blurred in back of the Night King. Sansa!

He dropped her and turned swiftly around to face her idiot older sister. Arya reached out an arm in a weak attempt to save Sansa from him but everything went black. The last thing she saw was the King advancing upon her sister.

XXXXXX

Sansa shivered in the small cave where she'd been dumped hours before. She wasn't tied up or anything, not that it mattered. The Night King had put a contingent of the dead around to guard her. They simply stood unmoving and staring, waiting for her make a move or a word from their master.

Why hadn't he killed her? She wondered not for the first time. Was he keeping her alive to do something horrible to her? Was he the same as human men?

Maybe he wants to lure John here. Or Bran.

Sansa stood up. That was it. She was bait.

That wasn't going to happen. She'd already had to watch her father and one of her brothers die, she wasn't about to watch another one. She would kill herself first. No Sansa, no bait.

A shuffling noise behind her had her turning around. The dead were parting to let someone through.

_Him._

Her heart leapt to her throat. She backed away and hit the cave wall behind her as he advanced slowly toward.

He never spoke, never blinked, never hesitated in his movements. Just walked up to her and then stopped. Pure terror almost made her faint.

"Please, what do you want?"

Of course he didn't answer. But he did raise a hand toward her face. She turned away, squeezing her eyes shut in defense of whatever it was he going to do. Something ice cold settled over her head, seemingly trickling down into her very soul.

And then she wasn't in the cave anymore. For that matter, she wasn't cold anymore, either. She opened her eyes and looked around.

She was in King's Landing, in the Red Keep. It was still winter, she realized looking out one of the windows.

A guttural noise to the side caught her attention. There were two women, one on the floor and one standing over her. She moved closer.

It was Cersei on the floor, she realized in shock. Tears streamed down her face as she looked up at the other woman. "Please," she begged, "have mercy."

The other woman was tall with long red hair even darker than her own. She wore a long diaphanous black dress that didn't even cover her arms from the cold. Sansa slowly circled around them, somehow knowing they couldn't see her.

Cersei begged for her life on her knees, just as Sansa had always wanted her to. The other woman however raised a sword and cut Cersei's head off without hesitation. The short blonde-haired head rolled to Sansa's feet, stopping just inches away.

Then the other woman lowered her sword and straightened, slowly turning her head to look behind her at Sansa.

Sansa saw the face and stumbled backwards in fear and shock. For although the eyes were bluer than hers had ever been and the skin whiter, it was _Sansa's_ face the woman was wearing.

"What?" she whispered in disbelief.

And then the Night King was beside her, watching her face. The woman was gone and instead, _she_ held the sword. Her hand was strangely white and without looking in a mirror she knew her eyes were the same shade of blue as the Night King's.

And then her body moved of its own accord, but it was almost as if she wanted it to, at the same time. She turned to the man-no, monster-next to her and dropped her sword to the floor, uncaring about the noise or anything. Anything except for him.

He gave the smallest of smiles and received her with both arms. Hers snaked around his neck, pulling him down and close. His mouth closed over hers in a long deep kiss. Her body molded to his and she wanted more. To be even closer. She slanted her mouth to draw him in even deeper. He smelled of winter and fresh snow. His hands were bruising in their grip on her waist.

_Mine._

The word echoed in her head as if he'd spoken aloud. She purred her agreement and kissed him all the more fiercely.

Suddenly, Sansa was back in the cave. Cold seeped into her bones and the powerful feeling she'd had in the Red Keep was gone. The Night King stared into her eyes which were normal color again. Now he smelled of blood and ash and death and she ripped herself away from his hand and retreated to the furthest corner of the cave.

"Never," she whispered, sliding down onto the cold ground and wrapping her arms around her knees.

Now she knew what he'd taken her for.

He'd shown her a possible future, one where she was a member of his dead army. Powerful and strong. And apparently in love with him. She shivered in disgust.

She stamped down the residual feelings that the Night King's vision had evoked and closed her eyes. The strange thing was, in the vision, she hadn't felt dead. She'd felt more alive than ever.


	2. Chapter 2

**I'd like to thank everyone who's shown interest in this fic! There are so little fics out there with this pairing, or even just the Night King, that I figured I was just going to write it for myself. I have a definite outline of where this is going but it is a little flexible. Suggestions are welcome and if I can incorporate them into the story I will do so and of course give credit where credit is due. For now, enjoy. **

**()()()()()()**

Only an hour or so had passed since the Night King had come to her. She could still feel his icy touch. Still see the vision he'd shown her. Could something like that really happen? As much as she'd love to have that bitch Cersei on her knees, she wasn't about to give up her entire life for it. She had to live, had to save her family and Winterfell.

These things had to die. In the meantime, she had to live.

Sansa stood up. There had to be some sort of way out of this. What would happen if she tried to leave? She walked slowly toward the opening mouth of the cave, past a row of dead guards who didn't move to stop her. Outside, there were more. Thousands. But most of them were just standing there, staring out at nothing. Would they even notice if she just walked outside?

Gingerly, she placed a foot in freshly fallen snow. Then the other foot. Ever so slowly, she made her way fully outside. It was cold but there was no wind. To the right of the mouth of the cave, there were trees. To the left, there was open space stretching out to high cliffs in the distance. Her option was obvious and she slowly backed away toward the treeline.

Incredibly, no one stopped her or gave chase. Maybe she wasn't as important as she'd thought.

Deeper into the forest, everything was quiet. She wasn't sure where she was going but anywhere away from the cave had to be safe.

Wait. Wasn't that the rock she'd passed a few minutes ago? Sansa frowned down at the lump of grey nestled at the base of a large conifer tree. Was she going in circles?

Something heavy came down on her shoulder and she screamed. Then everything went dark.

When she came to, she was a beautiful place. Green lights waved across the night sky and what looked like an ice castle of some kind stretched high before her. Suddenly afraid, she whirled around and came face to face with the Night King.

"What do you want?" she blurted out, backing away.

He tilted his head ever so slightly, staring at her in that unnerving way. Then he lifted his hand, drawing her attention to where he gestured. Dark figures walked forward in the distance. Finally, she could make out their faces and she swallowed hard.

Jon. Tormund. Jorah Mormont. Daenerys. Samwell Tarly. Arya. All of them, pale faced and blue eyed.

"No," she whispered.

_Inevitable._

Like before, she seemed to hear him in her mind. "Please," she whispered, turning to face him without flinching. "Let me go to my family."

If something like a sneer could form on the Night King's face, she was sure that she just witnessed it. He slowly raised his hand and then snapped his fingers. To the side, her friends and family fell to the ground as if dead.

"Don't hurt them."

_The dead belong to me. _

Sansa shook in her place, suddenly colder than ever. "I'm not dead."

He moved ever so slowly, angling his body to bring him closer to her. A finger lifted toward her face and she wanted to run away. He didn't touch her though. Instead, he lifted a piece of her hair with one fingernail, letting it slide off and back down to her shoulder.

Her shaking slowly subsided, as she realized he wasn't going to hurt her. Again she asked, "What do you want from me?" She shifted in place and swallowed hard. "Or is it … Jon? Or the Dragon Queen?"

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, changing his whole expression.

_The young warrior… He will be mine. Very soon. _

"Are you… going to kill me?" Please, say no, she prayed.

He didn't answer that and in another moment they were back in the forest from before. Sansa clutched at her chest, unsettled everything time he did that. The he stood there watching her, arms at his sides.

_Go._

The voice echoed in her head. She backed away, not believing that he would just let her go. But he didn't come after her and she turned to begin running.

For a moment, she remembered running from Ramsey Bolton through a snowy forest like this one and she stopped to look behind her. The Night King still stood there watching her, but still made no move to come and get her.

When she started running again she didn't look back.

XXXXX

Jon sat staring into the fire, one fist on his chin. He'd failed spectacularly and now Sansa was dead, among others countless others.

"At least we still have the dragons," Tormund said not unkindly. "We will avenge her death, brother."

Jon didn't bother to look at him when he answered. "It won't bring her back."

A new voice sounded now, one that made his chest lighten just a little bit. "You're right, it won't." Dany put a hand on his shoulder which he covered with his own. "But in the short time I knew her, Sansa was someone who loved the North deeply. Who wanted to save it from anything that would harm it. We will avenge her, Jon, and we will save the world from these monsters. The dead will _stay_ dead."

He kissed her hand and then let it go, half turning to watch her as she moved around him to sit down in the neighboring chair. She looked tired, he realized with a pang.

Tormund took a large drink of ale and then wiped his beard off with the back of his hand. "Well, I'm off. I'll leave you lovebirds to it then."

Dany rolled her eyes at his back, just a little, and then focused her attention on Jon. "I'm sorry about your sister. We had just started understanding each other. Not liking each other, of course." She cracked a small smile. Jon understood what she was talking about. The two women had been at odds with their views of the future and what it would bring. Dany was to be queen over all Westeros, and Sansa only wanted the North to be left alone.

"We need to talk."

She swallowed. "I've been avoiding it."

The corner of his mouth turned up. "Me too."

She took a deep breath. "What am I supposed to do with the information you have given me?"

He sat up straighter. "For starters, maybe don't look at me like I'm some traitor who's after your throne. I've never wanted the Iron Throne, never."

"Well, what _do_ you want?"

His eyes were dark as they looked her over. "That's the easiest question I've ever been asked. You," he said simply. "Us."

Her face lit up a fraction, but doubts held her back. "I want that too, Jon, believe me. But-"

"No, buts." He leaned forward and took her hands. "I swore my allegiance to you and gave you my promise to support you as the queen of Westeros. That hasn't changed."

"And it doesn't _bother_ you? That we're related? I know you're half-Targaryen but you can't have come around that quickly. I was _raised_ with the knowledge that my _brother_ and I were to reconquer Westeros and rule the kingdom together as husband and wife. You know that no one will accept our relationship, Jon. You're my-" She swallowed unwilling to say the actual words.

Jon gave his first genuine smile of the night, catching her off guard. "I've been told before that I know nothing, and I think that's very true. But what I _think_ is that you are the queen. The people will accept whatever you tell them to. And after all this is over I doubt many people will care. But keep it a secret if you wish."

Dany pulled him close, out of chair and onto his knees in front of her. "You are a marvel, Jon Snow." She kissed him quickly on the mouth and then pulled back. "No, it will not be a secret. Maybe for now, but not always. I want you too and I won't start my reign off with lies. Besides, for purely political reasons, our alliance makes perfect sense. You have the loyalty of the-stubborn-people of the North." She smiled briefly. "Together we will have the whole country."

Jon's hands slid up her thighs to settle around her waist. Rising up, he made his way to her neck to kiss the sensitive flesh just above her collarbone. But then the door flew open and Tormund stood in the doorway with an expression of mad excitement.

"It's your sister."

"Arya?" Was she in danger?

"No, the other one. The red haired girl. She's in the courtyard. _Alive_," he emphasized.

Jon sprang to his feet with Dany swiftly following.

Outside, he couldn't believe his eyes. It _was_ Sansa. She looked hungry and tired and pale, but otherwise unharmed. He ran to her, along with Arya and Dany and the many other onlookers.

She hugged him tight, another thing she remembered doing after running away from Ramsey. The day had many parallels. But before anyone could ask her any questions she had to tell them about the Night King first. She pulled away from Jon and looked at all of them.

"The Night King is coming for you. All of you."

"We know he will try again soon-" Dany started, but Sansa shook her head.

"I mean, he's coming to make you one of his … kind. He wants to turn all of you into creatures like him. He showed me a vision. In it, all of you were like him with those horrible blue eyes. Then he snapped a finger and you were dead." She looked at Jon. "He specifically told me that you would be his very soon."

That left Jon looking very unsettled and afraid and he dropped his arms from around her. "How did he tell you this? I didn't know he could talk."

"I sort of heard it in my mind. Maybe they _can_ talk but I never saw it."

"Where is he now?" Dany asked.

Sansa shook her head. "I think his army is to the south, for the moment. Not far. I'm not sure."

Tormund clenched a fist. "So we're trapped here."

They all looked at each other, each one knowing what that meant. Winter had come, finally, and now they were trapped in it with no food and no hope.


	3. Chapter 3

**Let me just preface this chapter by saying "Damn, this fandom and pairing requires a lot of research." Jeez. **

**So, although I'm going off the show's version of Game of Thrones, it's been impossible for me not to take from books when it comes to the Night King. Of course, I'm sticking to the show's version of how he was turned (although I think the Night King and the Night's King are two different people) I've had to incorporate some history from the book.**

**And damn there's a lot of history. In the books. Not the show. Of course.**

**So… here's chapter 3. Not much happens, BUT it's important setup. **

The night was hers.

Under her bare feet, she felt hard stone as she walked through the castle. Toward her purpose. Long dark red hair flowed behind her with every step she took.

Tilting her head back, she bared her throat and inhaled deeply. There. The next room.

Before she even stepped inside the room, the other woman reeked of fear. She clutched her stomach protectively.

_Baby_, Sansa thought, unsheathing her sword.

"Sansa, is that you?"

Sansa came to stop a few feet away from the woman. In another life, she'd known her. Now those memories seemed distant-not gone-but unimportant to her present goals.

"Please, I'm with child."

That didn't matter.

"Do you want me to beg?" the woman asked. "Fine. I'll beg." She lowered herself to her knees, still covering her abdomen. "Please, Sansa, I don't deserve your mercy but this child is innocent."

Sansa looked down at her. _Innocent_. It meant nothing. She gave the briefest of smiles and then raised her sword. _He_ wanted her dead. She was not to become one of them.

In one clean stroke, the woman's head slid off her neck and rolled away. It was done.

Sansa bolted upright in bed, breathing heavy. She threw back the covers and stood up, making straight for the door to her bedroom. "Arya?"

Her little sister stood slouched against the wall opposite her door, hand on the hilt of her sword.

Always ready for a fight, Sansa thought with a touch of humor.

"What are you doing out here?"

"Isn't it obvious? Keeping watching over you." Arya gave her a withering look and pushed past her into the bedroom. Sansa followed and shut the door. "You're an idiot, you know."

Sansa stood and waited for the tongue-lashing she'd known was coming.

Arya turned and eyed her up and down. "No weapons training. No hand to hand training. Shit, Sansa, you don't even own a sword, and yet you decide to take a run at the Night King."

"He was going to kill you."

Arya barely winced at the blow to her pride. "Yeah, well, how is my getting killed a signal for you to charge in and get yourself killed? I just do _not_ know what goes on in that head of yours."

Sansa decided to defend herself. "I didn't think we were going to live through it. I just panicked. The crypt was overrun and I barely got out. Then I saw you running toward the Godswood and I just followed. I saw Theon…" She swallowed hard, fresh tears springing up. Arya had the decency to look down in recognition, as well. "And I knew. He was going to kill you. And then Bran. And then probably me, and Jon, and everyone else. I just … acted."

Arya cocked her head just slightly to the side. "Except he didn't kill you."

"He didn't kill any of us." Sansa sat down in a chair by the fire. "I don't understand why not. It's driving me mad."

Arya stood watching her for a moment and then joined her sister by the fire. "What happened after he took you? We all thought you were dead."

"I thought I was going to die," Sansa admitted. "I woke up in a small cave. There was a fire, I suppose to keep me from freezing to death. Dead people just stood there staring at nothing, but I could tell they were supposed to guard me." She swallowed hard at the next memory. "And then _he_ came."

"The Night King?"

Sansa nodded, but didn't say anything more.

"Well?" Arya pressed. "What did he want?"

Sansa's throat went dry. "I… I can't tell you. I can't tell anyone."

That made Arya's eyes widen a fraction in alarm. "Sansa, you must tell me.

"I don't trust Daenerys Targaryen, no matter what Jon says."

"Great. Me neither. Now tell me what happened."

Sansa hesitated. "You swear you won't tell anyone?"

"Dammit Sansa, I swear."

"He… he put his hand on my head." Sansa ignored her sister's repulsed expression and continued. "I felt cold like I'd never felt before and then I saw something. Like a vision, or something. I don't know."

"What did you see?"

"Cersei Lannister. She was on her knees, begging this other woman not to kill her. But the other woman did. And then when she turned around… and I saw her face… it was me."

Arya's eyes widened.

"But not me. I looked like one of those _things_."

"One of the dead?"

Sansa shook her head. "No, the Others."

Arya nodded and looked at the fire, thinking hard. Sansa hesitated. Did she really have to tell her _everything_ she saw in the vision?

Sighing, she decided why not? "There's something else." Arya looked at her, eyes sharp. "_He_ was there too. The other me, I mean the one who killed Cersei … she kissed him."

Arya made a face. "Ugh, Gods Sansa, you have the _worst_ taste in men."

"It's not like I _want_ to kiss him, Arya. I don't know why I acted that way in the vision he showed me. I don't know why he didn't kill me or Bran or you. I don't know _anything_."

"You said Cersei begged for her life in the vision?" Arya asked.

Sansa nodded.

"That doesn't sound like her. Cersei wouldn't beg for anything, even her life."

"She was pregnant."

Arya shook her head. "Still… maybe this vision isn't really a vision, but more of something that you wanted to see. You hate Cersei, as do I. Is there anyone alive you hate more than her?"

Sansa's face hardened. "No."

"Maybe the Night King was showing you your heart's desire."

"Yes, but what about everything else? I don't desire _any_ of that."

Arya's eyes darkened. "Maybe that was what he desires."

Sansa was shocked. "You can't be serious."

"I don't know, Sansa, but one thing is certain-we're alive for a reason and it isn't a good one."

XXXXX

Images flashed behind his eyes. Scenes of past lives and future ones seared into his mind. Something disturbed him and he needed to _see_ what it was. He needed to see everything.

He slipped down, far away, not to the future but to the past. The others wanted him to tell them what was going to happen. If death was in their immediate future. But the keys to our futures lie in the past. What happens next is determined by what happened before.

The Three-Eyed Raven focused on the Children and what they had done eons ago to save themselves. The man they used… the Night King.

The Night King hadn't killed him when he'd had the chance. Instead, he'd been distracted by a young girl, the sister of Bran Stark. Sansa. Why had that happened? What was special about that girl?

He'd known that the Children of the Forest had used one of the First Men to create the Night King, but just who was that man? Was his identity important?

All these questions ran through his mind just as the images did. Something caught his attention and he stopped, going back to review what he'd seen.

And then he was there. He was no longer confined to his chair. His legs worked. There was a battle raging all around him. What looked like Wildlings and men wearing the Stark sigil and carrying the Stark banner fighting together against the dead. He knew without being told that this was the Battle for the Dawn, six thousand years ago.

No, this was too chaotic. He needed something specific. Concentrating once again, he closed his eyes, opening them after a few moments.

There.

The Night King.

He didn't look the same. Except for his eyes and pale white skin, he was human in appearance.

Not long after the Children took him, the Raven surmised. Interesting.

The leader of the dead was engaged in battle with someone. An ancient Stark. His sword cut easily through the leather and armor, killing the man. A scream took the Raven's attention to the right. A small figure, picking her way through dead bodies who'd not yet risen, fell to her knees beside the slain warrior. She ripped off her hood, red hair streaming in the cold wind.

"You killed him. How could you?" she accused.

The Night King merely stared, the corners of his mouth barely lifting. Then he turned and began walking away, as if the girl were of no importance to him. She took a dagger from the belt of the slain man and went after the King, planting the blade in his back, just under his shoulder blade.

As if he'd seen her actions, he whirled around and cut into her body with his sword of ice. The blade stuck out the other side of her.

She was not quite dead yet. The Night King grabbed her face with his free hand, and then did something quite shocking to the Raven. He kissed the girl on the mouth before letting her body fall to the ground. Then he continued walking away.

The Raven stepped over bodies to make his way to the girl. He didn't know what he could learn from her now that she was dead, but he just felt he had to see her face.

Staring down at her, he realized he was wrong. He'd just learned something important. Possibly very important. Although there were slight differences-for example, there was more blonde in the red hair, the eyes were slightly more narrow, the build smaller, and cheekbones sharper-the girl was the image of Bran's sister, Sansa.

The Raven opened his eyes, once more surrounded by cold stone walls and fire in the hearth. Once more in the present. His work was not finished, however. This matter needed further study. He was still missing something.

XXXXX

"You're Samwell Tarly, the Maester, right?" Arya stepped into the room, looking around at the clutter.

Sam turned around in surprise and then smiled. "Yes. Well, maester-in-training."

"You cured a man of Greyscale thought?"

He was rather proud of that accomplishment. "I did."

"And you lived at the Citadel?"

"For a time."

"I need to know everything you know about the Night King."

"That isn't much, I'm afraid. Bran told us a little, about him being a First Man, and all." Sam gave a hopeful smile.

Arya was nonplussed. "I need to know more. He took my sister, Samwell. I need to know why."

"I can't promise anything, Lady St-"

"I'm not a Lady."

"Alright, uh … _girl_. I can't promise anything because I don't believe there is anything left except legend and lore. It was six _thousand_ years ago. Before the Iron Throne, before dragons, before even the Night's Watch."

"I know all that," Arya cut in. "But, please… Find something to tell us what is going on. That's all I ask."

He nodded and she walked away. Then he visibly sagged and his expression turned sour. "What does she think I've been doing all this time?"

**If you can't tell, this was not proofread much before I posted it. Sorry for any mistakes that take you out of the story.**

**So, Arya's on it. She's pretty smart and I wanted a scene from her POV because of that. And of course Stark sister bonding is always good for me. She's definitely going to try and hunt down the reason for the Night King's weird interest in Sansa. **

**I'm calling Bran the Raven whenever it's a scene from his POV and some people might not like that, but Bran's gone. Only his family calls him Bran anymore, of course, which they still will in the story, but from his POV he's the Three-Eyed Raven. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Alright here's the next chapter! Thanks to everyone who reviewed/faved/read. **

***So apparently I never uploaded this! I was just about to do Chap 5 when I saw there was no 4. So sorry for messing up but here this is and the next one is very soon. **

The hall was full of the heads of houses of all the Northern families. One notable absence was Lyanna. She would be sorely missed by all who knew her and benefited under her leadership. Her sacrifice would be sung about for generations. She would be a legend six thousand years to come, Jon would make sure of that.

"The battle is over but the war is far from won," Daenerys said.

She spoke with strength and conviction which had a calming effect on the others. Northerners were stubborn bastards at times, but the care and worry they showed and felt for their people was genuine. They'd just come out of the most terrifying battle of their lives and now they had to decide what to do next.

"The army of the dead have passed us by and marched south and with them, winter. The further south they march the more desolation they cause. We must rally our forces and meet them before they reach Moat Cailin and do anymore damage."

"How?" someone asked. "We barely survived this attack."

Daenerys nodded and only glanced down briefly. It was her only sign of weakness. "We may feel cut off from the rest of world right now, but that isn't true. The truth is that the Others are surrounded on both sides. They march south while forgetting that there is an army behind them and in front of them. Ser Jaime."

Jaime Lannister paused for a moment and then stood up and cleared his throat. "My sister has most likely gathered an army of her own. While we fought the dead, she has been preparing for whatever remains. Whether we like it or not, Cersei is our last hope. Someone needs to convince her to march her army north while we march south."

"And how do we do that?" Arya asked. It was for show. She'd been in on the meeting that had transpired before this one. She already knew the plan.

Jaime nodded toward her and then answered. "We send a group of riders, a small group, to ride hard and fast to King's Landing. There is time if we can bypass the Night King before he reaches the Neck. If we cut in front of him and get to Cersei first, we might have a chance."

"I have a better idea," Arya cut in, speaking out of turn. Sansa's gaze sharpened. "Why don't we send reports of our deaths. Of the North's demise. See what she does?"

Jaime grimaced. "Because I can't predict what she'll do. She might hear these reports and march North. And get slaughtered. Then where will we be? Or she could decide to flee Westeros altogether. Again, where will that leave us?"

Arya stared at him for a moment and then backed down. Nodding she said, "Alright. But who's going to volunteer to ride out on a suicide mission? Cersei will kill anyone of us who's shows our face in King's Landing."

Jaime nodded. "That's why I'll be the first to volunteer."

There was mumbling amongst the northmen but general agreement. He was an outsider. It was only right he risk his skin for this foolhardy mission. It was _his_ sister, after all.

Dany swallowed hard and deliberately didn't look at Jon. "I'll be going as well."

That was pretty shocking and she was met with silence and gaping looks.

"What are you doing?" Jon hissed, but she ignored him.

"My dragon can outfly the Others. Alongside Jaime Lannister and one other person, we will get to King's Landing and convince Cersei to command her army to march north."

One man stood up. "I'd like to volunteer."

Dany smiled, privately thinking that she was sure no one would volunteer under her command. This was a nice contradiction. "Thank you, ser, for your bravery, but I have already chosen the third person. Arya Stark."

"You can't do that," Sansa cried, standing up to face the Dragon Queen. "That's my sister."

Dany eyed her calmly. "I know she's your sister. She's also my subject and I wish her to accompany me on the mission."

"It's suicide. Are you trying to kill off House Stark?"

Everyone was watching them and Dany lowered her voice. There was steel in it like Sansa had never heard before from her. "You need to back down. _Now_. I have a good reason for choosing Arya." Louder, she said, "And of course, Arya will be given the choice. This is a volunteer mission, after all."

Everyone quieted down and looked at the girl in question. She had an odd look on her face. Sansa swore it was akin to understanding. Arya stepped forward, toward Daenerys and the others, and then turned to face the heads of houses. "I believe I know why our queen wishes me to accompany her and I … agree. I will go."

Sansa stared at Arya, but had the sense not to have it out with her right there in front of everyone. She turned and walked away, to her bedchamber where she could think alone.

After about an hour, Arya slipped in and sat down in the chair opposite her by the hearth. "You're angry."

"Of course, I'm angry. You're going off to die. For _her_."

Arya clasped her hands and looked much like a mother who was putting up with a child's tantrum. "Thanks for your vote of confidence in my abilities."

"You know what I mean."

"Listen, there are things I'm alright with that you aren't. That few people are. If Cersei doesn't do what we want…"

"Then what? What could you do about it?" Sansa snapped.

Arya looked her dead in the eye. "I've got some things up my sleeve."

Sansa shook her head and glared at the fire.

"What do you think Daenerys is going to do if Cersei doesn't help us?" At Sansa's silence, she continued. "She's going to kill her. But what if Jaime Lannister can't let that happen? Who do you think she'll need then?"

Sansa still didn't answer.

"And what if something … horrific … has to happen to make this all go away? Do you think Jaime, he of newly found principles and morals, would be fine with that?"

Sansa finally looked at her. "We belong to the North."

"There will be no North if the Night King has his way."

"If you leave… we'll never see each other again." Sansa swallowed the lump that rose swiftly in her throat.

Arya smiled. "Of course we will. One way or another. What is that the Ironborn say? Nothing dead ever dies?"

"What is dead may never die," Sansa corrected with a slight smile.

Suddenly both sisters fell grim, looking at each other. Arya spoke first. "I guess that saying takes on a whole new meaning now."

"That's for certain," Sansa mumbled.

"You remember what Father used to say to us? That we were more than just ourselves. We belonged to our people. What we wanted had to take second place to what our house and the north needed."

Sansa grimaced. "Yes."

"It's the same as now. I'm the only one who can do what needs to be done in this instance. You need to see that."

"I'm afraid," Sansa admitted, swallowing hard.

Arya covered her sister's hand with her own. "I'm _not_."

She got up and walked out of the room.

XXXXX

It was freezing. Her teeth chattered and her whole body felt it had been doused with ice water. The Night King was here, she knew it. Surrounded on all sides but one by his undead army, her path forward was clear.

_He_ sat on a throne of ice, surveying everything, especially her. She stopped a ways away from him, wrapping her arms around herself to try and keep warm.

_Come_.

She didn't want to.

A white walker with long white hair moved forward, hand on sword, and she nervously inched toward the throne. "Why am I here?" She sounded much braver than she felt.

He knew it too. A quick smirk told her so. He slowly extended a hand toward her. Then curved his fingers in a beckoning motion.

"I'm not coming closer."

She blinked and he was in front of her. Her knees almost gave out. His icy stare was unrelenting and she couldn't meet it.

A slow trickle of ice ran down the side of her face and she realized he was touching her again, this time with just one finger. She closed her eyes. Tears leaked out and down her cheeks. Something sharp, (a fingernail perhaps?) dug under her chin, forcing her head up. She trembled on that finger for what seemed like eternity.

Then fear overcame her and something snapped. She slapped a hand around the Night King's wrist and tightened her grip. It was a small defiance, but one that was important to her.

His brow lifted the slightest of fractions.

Then he released her. Very slowly.

Her anger rose just as slowly, but it was there. "Why won't you tell me what you want?"

He just stayed the way he was for several long seconds and then his mouth slowly opened. A voice like cracking ice filled the space around her. It sounded like it hadn't been used in centuries. "In time."

"We _will_ kill you. Somehow."

He suddenly locked both of his hands onto her upper arms. She was flooded with … everything. Feelings, words, images. It left her gasping for air and on her knees when he released her.

_I cannot be destroyed. _

And then she was back in her bed, still gasping for air and terrified by what he'd shown her.

XXXXX

As Sansa came back to her senses, the Three-eyed Raven opened his eyes as well. They were filled with sorrow and fear.

He spoke aloud to no one. "One night, he'll take her for good."

**One thing I thought was stupid was the whole Night King being killed with dragonglass plot point. I mean, really? He already had dragonglass in his heart. Why would stabbing him in the heart with dragonglass kill him? I would think that by taking it out somehow would make him human again and thus killable. **

**If anyone knows the answer or wants to reason it out, I'm all ears. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Okay, so thanks to a tip from reviewer tommyginger I went to Archive of Our Own and there is a VERY good fic over there with NK/Sansa pairing called Winter's Winds. Just read it and was like Dang it! Why didn't I think of that? LOL. Very interesting take on 8x03.**

**Okay, that being said… the scene in this fic directly below is one where I've had to use my imagination with things like names. Usually, I hate this because the names always come off cheesy, but it was necessary in this case. **

**()()()()()()()()()**

"Ser, the southernmost settlement has come under attack. The villagers are fleeing north, to us, for aid and protection." A young man around the age of twenty stood at attention, waiting for his commander's order.

The older man, about forty-ish, scowled and threw down the scroll he carried. It contained a rough outline of land borders, oceans, and settlements his people had formed since arriving to this land. "Those damn imps! The Gods take them all!"

"What should we do?" the younger man asked nervously.

"What d'ya mean, 'what should we do?' I'm going to kill every single last one of those dirty, little, green-skinned monsters and then I'm going to burn down those blasted trees they love so much."

"But what about the villagers? This is hardly the place for refugees." He waved an arm around the encampment for emphasis.

"Just put 'em up wherever for now. Where's my brother?"

"Which one, Ser?"

"The one who's not completely useless."

"Ah, well, Barron is not here yet."

"Why not?"

"I'm not sure, Ser. It's possible there was a delay."

"I received word that he defeated the band of imps and was heading back here. That was three days ago."

"More pressing than Barron's delay is your uncle's arrival. He'll be here tomorrow."

"Hang 'em both," the older man grunted. He had no patience for people and things who did not do exactly what they said they would.

"Tsk, tsk. Is that any way to talk about your favorite brother? They _should_ call you Bran the Bastard. Has a better ring to it."

Bran stood straighter at the sound of the familiar voice. "Barron. I could say the same to you."

Bran turned around to eye his youngest brother. Then he cracked a smile and both men clapped their arms around each in greeting. "What took you so long?"

A broad smile spread across Barron's handsome face. "Oh, you know, just relaxing a bit after a hard battle."

Bran sniffed knowingly. "Whores. Only you would be able to find whores in the middle of this uninhabited land. Please tell me it wasn't one of those tiny creatures."

"God's no," Barron chuckled. Both brothers started walking slowly around the camp. "And I don't find them, they find me."

"I feel mighty sorry for the woman who ever really loves you, brother."

Barron gave another smile. "So do I. Fortunately, for me and her, whoever she is, I'm good looking."

Bran snorted.

XXXXX

The Three-Eyed Raven's eyes returned to normal.

This was very interesting. Not much interested him anymore, but the Night King was someone who did.

"He was a Stark," the Raven said aloud to no one. As with most things now, he just knew that without being told. He wasn't just _a_ Stark, he was one of the _first_ Starks in Westeros.

Was that an explanation for his interest in Sansa?

Somehow he didn't think so. At least, not entirely.

XXXXX

Without Dany, life at Winterfell went back to normal for Sansa. Many people had left to go back to their own homes, despite Jon cautioning them otherwise.

"We need food," Sansa said. "We need to get to the sea and fish."

"Oh, and that's something you know how to do, is it?"

She eyed Jon in irritation. He'd been depressed ever since Dany left with Arya and Jaime and it was starting to get on her nerves. "I think I could learn if it meant not starving. We can't grow anything, Jon. We need to hunt and fish."

Jon rubbed his face. "We're days away from the sea, on either side."

"So we send out a hunting party," Sansa countered.

"Then do that," Jon said giving her a tight smile. Then he got up and left the main hall.

_Remember all the stupid things you did for Joffrey?_ She told herself, watching her brother's retreating form. Love was stupid and harmful, but she couldn't pretend she didn't empathize.

Daenerys wasn't even that special, she thought. For being the Dragon Queen, she was small and pale and washed out in the Northern setting. Maybe somewhere warmer would suit her better.

"Sansa, I need to speak to you."

She looked over and saw her other brother. "Bran? What is it?"

"Not here."

Her heartbeat quickened and somehow she knew he wanted to talk about the Night King. She'd been doing her best not to think of him all day, but the reprieve was over it seemed. She stood up and went behind Bran's chair to push it somewhere more private.

"Let's go to the Godswood," he suggested quietly.

"Alright."

They walked in silence until they came to their destination. She pulled his chair around next to the ancient tree and faced his outwards so he could see everything.

"I've seen things. I've seen the Night King before he was the Night King."

Sansa's breath quickened. She still didn't completely understand her brother's new gifts, but she believed him when he told her things.

"I saw time before Winterfell, before the Kings of Winter." He looked at her for any reaction. "I believe I know a small piece of the reason the Night King is targeting you. Not all of it yet, but I will soon enough."

"Well? What is it?" she demanded breathlessly.

"He is a Stark. Barron Stark, brother to Brandon Stark who built this castle."

Her mouth dropped open in shock. "That was six thousand years ago."

"Yes."

Sansa couldn't believe her ears. "A Stark? How is that possible?"

"He was taken by the Children of the Forest and made into a weapon to help them win the war against the First Men."

"The Children of Forest are a myth."

"I assure you they are real. At least," Bran said looking far away for a moment, "they were."

Sansa tried to process what he'd told her quickly. "But what does that have to do with me? You're a Stark too. So is Arya and Jon. Why me?"

Bran looked thoughtfully for a moment. "That I'm not sure about but I will continue looking. For now, there is something I wish to do but I need your permission."

"What is it?" Somehow from his tone she thought she might not like it, whatever he had in mind.

"I want to share a vision with you," he said quietly.

Her eyes widened.

"The Night King can see inside your mind. He knows things like I know things. I want to try something in case he attempts to meet with you again."

"Will it hurt?"

"I don't think so."

Sansa took her time thinking it over, finally saying, "Alright, what do I do?"

"Take my hand."

She did so.

"Now place your other hand on the Godswood tree."

She did that as well.

"Close your eyes and relax."

That was harder. Nothing happened at first.

Then she heard a distant cry, like an echo of an echo. She opened her eyes and saw Bran next to her, but they were a ways from the tree now. A man with longish brown hair knelt with his sword in front of it. He was crying, she realized.

"Where are we?"

"Winterfell," Bran answered simply. "Six thousand years ago."

She whirled around and saw the bare bones of the castle she called home. It was much smaller and the walls hadn't even been fully built yet.

There were giants!

"Can he see us?" she asked turning back to Bran and then man kneeling.

"I don't think so. Most people can't as long as you don't do anything to bring attention to yourself. Let's move closer."

She took his chair and wheeled it slowly forward. She could hear snippets of what the man was saying.

"Barron … damn you…"

"Who is he?"

"That would be Brandon Stark, known throughout history as Bran the Builder."

The gravity of what she was seeing hadn't fully hit her yet. _He's my family, six thousand years removed. Did he sort of look like Father? No_, she scoffed, _He couldn't_.

Could he?

She walked a little closer and then knelt down in front of him. He did sort of look like Ned Stark. Most of the Starks had the same coloring, except herself and Robb who looked like the Tully's. This man had a narrower nose and a more oval face than her father had. Same brow line though.

It was inconceivable.

Her hand twitched and reached out toward his face.

"No, Sansa," Bran warned. "Don't. It can be dangerous."

Suddenly he looked up and seemingly right into her eyes. She froze. Could he see her?

"Oh, Brother…" There was so much sorrow in his voice that tears sprang to Sansa's eyes. It was the Stark curse, it seemed, to weep over brothers. And fathers and mothers.

She stood quickly and made her way back to Bran. "Is this what you wanted to show me?"

He nodded. "Some. The rest can wait."

"The Night King…" She swallowed a lump in her throat. "He's the brother?"

"I believe this is after the great Battle of the Dawn. Probably months or years after. The Night King was defeated and sent back further north, to the Land of Always Winter, not to be seen again for six thousand years. Brandon Stark is … still sad."

It was so strange to think of the icy, pale man who brought death wherever he rode, as being someone who had been loved. Who _had_ loved once.

"It doesn't matter now," Bran continued. "I didn't show you this so that we can try and fix things. Things no longer can be fixed, I'm afraid."

"Then why did you show me this?"

"For _Him_."

Sansa gasped for air as everything around them went back to normal and her eyes flew open.

XXXXX

Once again, she was in the dark and cold. Everything was quiet. Too quiet.

Was she dreaming again? Or was this Him?

_Come._

She whirled around but saw no one. "Hello?" Her voice sounded small to her ears.

Then up ahead a dark figure stepped out from behind a tree, blue eyes glowing. There was a strange lack of fear from her at the moment. Maybe because of what she'd seen earlier with Bran?

Maybe she knew he wouldn't hurt her.

At least, not yet.

He walked closer to her, slow and sure. He never faltered, never stumbled or tripped. Just forward.

Then he was close enough to touch her. She held her breath.

He stared down at her, finally lifting the corners of his mouth infinitesimally. Whatever he'd seen in her he must have liked.

_Good._

"You're probably not going to tell me why I'm here."

One pale finger reached up to trace the curve of her face. She shuddered at the icy feeling. His finger dug into her chin, forcing it up. Very, very slowly he moved down. Toward her.

Now her fear spiked. Now she realized what he was going to do. But she couldn't move. At the moment, her legs were as useful as Bran's. His eyes never wavered from hers, even as his mouth hovered so close.

Then he drew back. Though his expression didn't change, it seemed to her he was frowning. He gripped her face, peering down at her.

Suddenly, images flashed through her mind. Specifically, what she'd seen at the Godswood earlier. Her ancestor kneeling and praying. Weeping.

"Oh, Brother." The voice echoed in her mind and outside of it as well.

The Night King withdrew from her, dropping her face, and stepping back. He angled his head to look at something past her. His eyes were downright menacing.

XXXXX

The Night King saw him. He was angry.

The Raven peered into events happening in the present time. He'd known the Night King would come for Sansa again and when he did, the Raven would be watching.

He was watching when the Night King bent his head to kiss Sansa. He'd been pleased with her lack of fear. Then he'd probed deeper and found the vision of the past. His past.

That had not pleased him.

Suddenly, they saw each other. The king pushed past the girl and walked toward him.

_You did this._

"Yes."

_That is not what I had in mind. _

The Raven frowned slightly. The Night King had plans concerning him and Sansa? Strange. "What _did_ you have in mind?"

_Soon, you will not even be a memory and I will have everything._

"You're waiting for something," the Raven said aloud.

The Night King smirked. Then he turned and walked away, past Sansa and into the dark night of the forest.

**Well, I do believe this is my favorite chapter so far. I sort of sat in front of the screen after the first scene and was like 'Where do I go now?' because I don't want the Sansa/NK scenes to just repeat until the end of time, but really, they're who were all here for. Then bam! Creativity flowed and everything was saved. LOL**


	6. Chapter 6

**I generally don't give warnings in fanfics but I'm trying to be a more considerate person SO … I have made up quite a bit of backstory in this chapter. Lots of artistic license. Some of you might be like 'What the heck are you doing?' Once I started though I couldn't stop. And it is all going somewhere. That's my defense. **

**I'm a little nervous about my writing this time, for some reason, BUT I did proofread it multiple times. **

**Also, there is a touch of smut. That's all I'm saying. But I figure everyone who's into this pairing wants a bit of smut (or a ton) so I don't think it should be a problem.**

**Quite a bit goes down in the chapter. **

**()()()()()()()()()()**

"Uncle Jon, you made it," Bran called over the sound of crashing waves.

The small boat carrying six people slid up onto shore. Four men, including Jon Stark, got out to pull it further inland.

Then he clapped a hand against his nephew's back and hugged him tight. "Is that grey hair I see?" his uncle teased, drawing back.

"Less than you've got, Uncle." Bran swatted him away and waved Barron over. "You remember this one?"

Barron grinned broadly and walked over to greet Jon in the same manner as his brother.

"This one's always been nothing but trouble. Tell me, are all the girls still trying to trick you into marriage?"

Barron had the grace to look abashed and he rubbed the back of his neck. "Thankfully, there aren't a lot of women here. I'm safe for now."

Jon turned to gesture to the boat. "Speaking of women, I've brought your cousin along with me. She was but a child last you saw but she's grown up real fine since then. Allana, come say hello to your cousins."

A tall, slender girl thanked one of the men who'd helped her from the boat and then walked over to her father. Slowly, she unwound the head scarf she'd worn to protect herself from the sun while at sea and shook out her hair. Long red-gold waves spilled around her shoulders. For a moment, both her cousins were too stunned to speak. After three years in Westeros, women had been scarce and this new person was the most beautiful they'd seen in a long time.

Bran broke the silence first, gingerly taking her hand and kissing it. "There's not a prettier girl in all this land, fair cousin." He smiled gallantly and then released her. "This mannerless oaf is Barron, my youngest brother. He's the one helping me keep the blasted natives in check."

Barron hadn't said anything so far. He only stared. As soon as she'd taken off her headscarf, his chest had tightened and his hands went clammy. Allana smiled shyly up at him and extended her hand. He took it as if it would break if he held it too tight. "A pleasure," he murmured, bending over to kiss it.

That scene faded and another took its place. It was less visual. He could only hear words whispered softly.

_I love you, Allana._

_Promise you'll never leave me._

_I promise._

So that was it.

Everything faded back into the Raven's mind as he came back to present. He now knew the basics of the story long past. Barron Stark fell in love with his cousin, Allana Stark, and sometime after he was turned into the Night King he killed her during the Battle for the Dawn.

Allana Stark looked remarkably like Sansa Stark. Was the Night King attempting to get something back from his past? Right an ancient wrong? He had feelings, of that the Raven knew for sure. His feelings were simply more of an enigma than most people's. It had taken the Raven days and nights of searching through endless of memories of the past to find out even this much. And even now, he still was not sure of the Night King's motives.

"Oh, good you're here." Samwell Tarly stuck his head through the bedroom door with a tentative smile. "I was hoping you would be."

"Sam. What do you need?" the Raven asked slowly.

The larger man came fully into the room holding something that resembled a chunk of a book. "Well, Lady Arya-I mean, just Arya-asked me to look into this business with the Night King. Before she left, I mean."

The Raven found it hard to believe that this man _had_ found anything, but stranger things were possible. "And? Did you?"

"No," Sam said slowly, drawing the word out and leading the Raven to think maybe he had. "Well, maybe. I don't know. That's why I came to you."

"Tell me what you found."

Sam moved closer and looked down at the object he carried. "This is the only surviving account of the construction of Winterfell. You know, legend mixed in with fact. I managed to translate it from the Old Tongue, but due to several factors it took some time…"

The Raven watched Sam impassively, as he rambled on. He didn't have emotions like impatience anymore, but he was curious to know how it all connected. So he spoke up. "Sam."

"Alright, alright, I apologize. I'm just nervous." He held up the pieces of old book. "In here, there is a chapter about the Crypts and there's something strange. Look." He opened to the page he was referring to and held it out. On the page, at the top, was a strange drawing. A circle with a diamond in front of it. Then another diamond inside. It looked familiar.

"You've been as close to him as I have." Sam gently tapped the picture.

Suddenly it clicked and the Raven looked up at Sam. "The Night King's pendant. This is a drawing of it. But what does it have to do with the crypts of Winterfell?" And for that matter, what was it doing in a book _about_ Winterfell?

"According to this, it's the Stark sigil." Now Sam got excited and his speech conveyed it. He stuttered. "From b-b-before House Stark was even … a house of Westeros. I mean, it doesn't explicitly say that, but it's heavily implied. It doesn't even say what the sigil represents, at least not in the pages I have. And it makes sense, doesn't it? The First Men came from Essos. There are no direwolves in Essos. Over time, probably after or around the time Winterfell was built, House Stark formed into what it is today and chose a new sigil. After generations, the knowledge of what was before was lost."

The Raven turned his head toward the fire, thinking over everything.

"The Starks are the ones who formed the Night's Watch, built the Wall…" Sam's voice trailed off in amazement. "Everything they did then was to protect Westeros from the White Walkers. The Night King was a-"

"Stark," the Raven finished. "Not only was he a Stark, but he was the brother of Brandon Stark who built the Wall. And this castle."

Samwell looked dazed and had to take a seat in the only chair available, by the fire. "My word."

"But what is the connection to the crypts?"

Sam wiped his brow and looked up. "Well … I think there is something hidden down there. Something that can help us kill the Night King. You see that symbol? Right there? On this page, it's also drawn over the part of the castle where the crypts would be. I haven't gone down there yet. I came to you first."

The Raven stared down at the page. "Thank you, Sam."

Sam waited in expectation but when the Raven didn't say anything he shook his head. "Well? Are we going? I didn't feel right just bursting in on your dead family members."

"Oh, I'm sure they won't mind," the Raven said distantly.

XXXXX

The great of army of the dead marched onward, south. On a hill some distance away, the Night King sat on his horse surrounded by four of his greatest lieutenants, watching.

_Stay with them. I will be back._

The four looked at him. They had no choice but to obey, of course, but they still inclined their heads in affirmation.

Then he looked up at the cloudy sky, using the connection that he had to every one of his kind to call his new pet that was currently flying overhead. With a screech, the dragon descended down through the clouds and landed just below the hill.

The Night rode down on his horse, dismounted, and then mounted the dragon. Through their connection, it would know where to go.

_Winterfell._

The dragon took off, rising high in the sky. No one in his army even turned their heads to watch. Only one thing interested them: death. Everything else was irrelevant.

His old enemy, the Three-eyed Raven, was attempting to toy with him, using humans. That would stop.

After all, despite his meddling, the Raven had done just what he wanted him to do. He'd seen the girl's mind. A link had been forged.

It was time for the Seer to be destroyed.

XXXXX

Sweat dotted Sansa's brow. In her sleep, she tossed and turned. In her dreams, something much darker, more delicious, was happening. Something that felt forbidden.

Lust.

And love. All consuming, raw, burning into her very being.

His tongue expertly stroked her most sensitive parts, his mouth alternately kissing the inside of one thigh.

"Please," she gasped, tangling her hands in his hair. "I need you."

In response, his hands tightened around her hips drawing her as close to his mouth as he could get. His tongue licked and swirled, dipping down and in and back up again.

"My love…" she moaned, fisting the linen sheet underneath her body.

He broke away from between her legs and rose up high above her, bracing his weight on both arms planted on either side of her head. Her hands explored his chest and torso, pulling him flush against her. It took no time at all for him to be inside her, slowly thrusting, building the tension deep in her belly.

One arm slid under her lower back, and his leg bent at an angle, further spreading her legs apart and giving him deeper access. He built up speed, thrusting hard and fast, as they both liked sometimes, until a blinding, breathtaking sensation flooded her whole body. As she came down from the euphoric high, she felt him increase his pace, giving three quick thrusts, and then he expelled a breath, breathing heavy and collapsing half on top of her.

They both laid like that for several moments, each one recovering from their exertions. Then she turned on her side. His profile was clear to her against the firelight.

"That was much better than the first time," she murmured, lightly tracing a line down the side of his ribs. Their first time together had been painful for her, as she'd expected. Expected or not, it had been a shock.

He faced her then and grinned. "I aim to please."

"I am very pleased."

Suddenly he scooped her up and pulled her into his arms, kissing her forehead. "Good, because I plan on doing this to you every night from now on."

She laughed. "Every night? Won't we have to sleep sometime?"

"No," he said stubbornly.

"When my father dragged me here across the sea, I never thought I could ever be so happy," she murmured. "You know he intended me for Bran."

"Thankfully, my brother and your father love us and want us to be happy." He rubbed against her deliciously. "You know what would make me very happy right now?"

She giggled and her eyes widened in shock. "Again?"

"I'm insatiable."

"It would seem so."

Then he paused and looked deep into her eyes. She cupped his face with her hand, moving circles over it with her thumb. "I love you, Allana."

Hearing those words caused heat to pool in her lower belly, and she arched against him, a teasing smile on her lips. "Promise you'll never leave me."

He kissed her long and slow before answering. "I promise."

Then everything rushed away and Sansa bolted upright in her bed, her chest heavy and the place between her legs aching. She felt cold and alone.

The door burst open and Jon came in looking afraid. "Sansa, get dressed. A dragon was spotted not far from here."

"Daenerys?"

He shook his head. "It's not hers."

He left and her stomach rolled. For one awful moment, she couldn't move. Then she sprang into action, dressing in a simple dark gown and leaving her hair long and loose. She grabbed her heavy cloak, wrapping it around her shoulders and pinning it tight.

Her door was partially open. Men rushed through the halls carrying whatever weapons they could. Mothers hurried children along to safety.

"Sansa! Here!"

She turned to the right and saw Jon and threaded her way to him. "What are we going to do?"

He grabbed her hand and pulled her along. "You're going down to the crypts with Bran and Sam and the others."

"What are you going to do?"

He didn't answer. He didn't know.

"Jon, what if he wants-"

He stopped and spun her to face him. "It doesn't matter what he wants. He's not going to get it."

He couldn't promise that, she knew. No one could protect anyone, especially not her.

Down in the crypts it was awful. The waiting was the worst. Nobody down there could do anything to help so they were just stuck. Waiting. Listening.

"Sansa?"

She looked up. It was Bran.

"Will you bring me over there?" He looked over to a dark, mostly unused part of the crypt.

"Why?"

"There's something there I want to show you."

"Not another vision, please, I can't-"

"It's not that. Hurry." His tone conveyed the opposite of 'hurry' but she reluctantly obeyed wheeling him over.

"Sam?" she asked seeing the man kneeling down on the floor next to an ancient part of the wall that stored a body, presumably. It had been walled up and now held only a few letters of a name and a strange symbol.

He looked up. "Lady Sansa. Forgive me for disturbing your ancestor but we think something might be in there."

"What?"

"We don't know. Not yet. Hand me that hammer."

She bent down and gave it to him. The wall was surprisingly strong for something so old. Sam hammered away until finally chips of dirt and plaster began to fall off.

"Who is it?" she asked wrinkling her nose.

"We're not entirely sure, but it's either Brandon Stark, the founder of Winterfell, or his son, also called Brandon Stark."

"What makes you sure that there is something in there? Besides a corpse?"

Sam pointed at the strange glyph on the wall, now half gone. "You see that? It's the only one in this whole place. We believe that it is a clue to finding something to possibly defeat the Night King."

Sansa's mouth parted in surprise. Then she grabbed the hammer and swung, punching a hole right through, exposing the cavity. "Thanks," he mumbled, lowering his torch to see inside.

"Pull it out, Sam. We don't have much time," Bran told him from behind her. A rumbling noise sounded from above.

Hesitating only for a moment, because desecrating the dead isn't something he was used to, Sam grabbed the wrapped up top part of the corpse and pulled.

"Ugh," Sansa coughed, covering her nose and mouth from the ancient air and dust that spilled out with the body. Then she looked down at the much too small bundle and gasped. "What in the Seven Kingdoms is that?"

"It looks like … a baby," Sam breathed, looking over to Bran.

Bran tilted his head. "Unwrap it."

It felt twice as bad to disturb the resting place of a baby, let alone it's body, but Sam obeyed. Gingerly, he unwound the dark wrapping around the tiny shrunken form. The skin had tightened and darkened over time causing a garish parody of what the baby had originally looked like.

It had been a boy.

"Wait, there's something in its hand." Sam tried to pry the object from out of the tiny grip carefully, but in the end the hand snapped off the arm.

Sansa and Sam winced.

"What is it?"

Another rumble this time accompanied with screams in the distance.

Sam hurriedly looked it over. "I don't know. A pendant of some kind. It has the old sigil on it."

"Hand it to me." Bran held out his hand and took the pendant. Then he closed his eyes briefly. When they opened again, they were white.

Sam and Sansa looked at each other nervously. He was gone for several long minutes and when he came back, his eyes turned brown again.

"This was the child's mother's pendant." He held it back out to Sam. "Keep it safe. It's important."

Sam took it and hid it inside his tunic.

"He's coming for me," Bran said looking at the both of them. "Before he does, I need to show you things, Sam. There's no time to find anyone else."

"What? No. I can't become … whatever it is that you are now. I have a family."

"You won't become like me. I'm the last now."

"Bran, you're not going to die. We won't let him kill you," Sansa said standing up and going to her brother.

"Nevertheless, Sam… we need you."

A look of fright crossed Sam's face. Sounds by the crypt entrance seemed to imply that the door was being broken down. He swallowed hard and then scurried over to Bran.

"Hold my hand," Bran commanded tonelessly.

Sam obeyed. Bran's eyes closed briefly. When they opened, Sam's entire body stiffened and both pairs of eyes went milky. Sansa bit her lip and then moved past them to stand in view of the entrance. When the Night King entered, she hoped to distract him as long as possible while Bran and Sam finished.

Maybe she could save both of them. If the Night King wanted her so badly, maybe he would do this one thing for her in exchange for…

For what? What would he want? He could take whatever he wanted. What did he have to gain by pleasing her?

Nothing.

Her heart pounded in her chest as the door blew open and off its hinges. Everyone screamed and scurried away, anywhere out of sight, if possible. The Night King walked through, seeing her immediately. He came forward and stopped right in front of her. His eyes bored into hers and Sansa remembered that he could see into her mind.

She panicked and raised her hand to hit him. He easily deflected her blow with one arm and then took it in a vice-like grip. Slowly, his head turned to the left and she swallowed hard.

"Please," she whispered, begging. "Leave us alone."

He ignored her and dropped her hand. She spun around and saw him advancing upon Bran. Her eyes darted quickly around but saw no sign of Sam. Bran appeared calm, but she could detect a flicker of sorrow in his face. Or maybe regret?

Sansa grabbed the Night King's arm and pulled with all her strength. It didn't matter. He shook her off and kept walking to stand in front of her brother. Around her, the others who'd been hiding ran out, trying to escape from the monster who'd just slaughtered half their people days before.

She didn't go with them. She couldn't. Not until Bran was safe. And Jon wasn't down here so that must mean…

Tears sprang to her eyes and she blinked them away.

_Now your time is over, Seer._

She could hear the Night King's voice as if he were speaking aloud.

Bran didn't respond.

The Other drew his ice blade and raised it high. Sansa shrieked, "No!" and flew over, throwing her body in front of Bran's.

The Night King didn't like that. He made a guttural sound in his throat that was somewhere between a hiss and a protest. He pushed her out of the way and somewhere in the back of her mind she registered surprise at his unwillingness to kill her.

"It's alright, Sansa." Bran glanced at her on the floor and then did something he hadn't done since she'd been reunited with him. He smiled. "Even if the dawn takes awhile, it _will_ come. Remember."

The Night King's blade thrust in through his chest and her brother was no more. Sansa choked on her screams.

He took her arm and pulled her upright, dragging her along with him outside where his dragon waited his command. Her mind was in daze. In shock. She couldn't feel her legs and expected to fall at any moment.

_Where was Jon?_ was the only thought running through her mind as he pulled her onto the dragon with him.

He wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her tight, and then the dragon took flight.

_I'm going to be sick_, she thought, lurching forward and vomiting over the side. The Night King merely let her finish and then pulled her back up.

_It is finished._

**I said 'thrust' a lot in this chapter. LOL**

**So there's a ton of details in this, but mostly it's just backstory and a bit of smutiness. For the sake of the story, I'll have to catch back to up Dany in the next scene. I know all you Dany-haters will love that, but it has to be done. *sigh***

**It's just, I can't really have the Night King flying what has to be mere miles away from her and another dragon without anything happening. It would be stupid. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Part of me just wants to skip the finale… then I can still hold on to my illusions. **

***sigh* **

**Anyways, thanks to all the guests who've reviewed but I cannot reply to and thanks to anyone I might've forgotten. I think I got everyone, but there's always room for error. I definitely appreciate all the feedback and response!**

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Her hands and face were half-frozen when the dragon landed. The Night King dismounted and stood on the ground, looking up at her expectantly. Sansa wanted to stay put and let him drag her off if he wanted, but something in his face told her it would be wiser to just comply. She didn't know quite how she did it, with every bone in her body stiff and cold, but she half-climbed half-slid off Viserion.

He walked and she followed. Part of her wondered if she was awake or dreaming. Was this real? Had Bran really just died? Where was Jon?

He stopped suddenly causing her to run into the back of him. He turned.

_Stay._

Then he walked away, leaving her to stand in the middle of nothing but cold snow. Was he leaving her to die?

She waited for what seemed like an eternity before he finally came back. He walked past her, coming to a stop a few feet away, and reached out his hand toward the ground. Very slowly, the snow on the ground began to move and swirl, coming together and solidifying before Sansa's eyes.

When he was finished, an icy structure large enough for her to walk into sat displayed to her complete shock. It was magic. It had to be. Of course, he had magical abilities, she thought. Of course.

The Night King turned back to her and raised his arm toward the structure, his face expressionless. She swallowed hard and moved toward it. Anything was better than being in the ice and cold.

Would it even keep her warm?

She didn't dwell on the fact that he was bothering to keep her warm at all and what that meant. He _wanted_ to keep her alive.

When she passed, he grabbed her arm, stopping her movement for a moment. His ice blue eyes bored into hers.

She knew better than to ask what he wanted. He wouldn't tell her anyway.

Then he smiled, ever so slightly, and released her arm. Instead of leaving her, however, he followed her into the ice room. She stared in amazement all around. There were seats carved into the ice walls on either side of the room and she hurriedly took one. He took the other.

_The Seer can no longer interfere with my plans._

She started at his voice in her head.

_Now you will stay with me until…_ He paused.

"Until what?" she whispered, voice hoarse.

This time his mouth moved. His voice was raspy and harsh. "Until … I decide … your fate."

She was almost sure that wasn't what he was going to say, but why would he hold back? Nothing he said or told her would have any impact on him. She would never be able to escape and she couldn't stay with him forever. She needed things that he never would. Food, shelter, warmth…

So she started talking. Foolish or not. "You want me for something," she said. His face didn't change. "I know you want me alive." She gestured around them, the ice walls providing a measure of safety and warmth. "If you were a normal man, I would say I know exactly what you want. But you're not."

_No, I am not._

She started again, slowly. "I thought at first you wanted me so that you could lure my brother, Jon. But if that were true you would not have let me go in the first place. And you would not have taken me from my home." She paused. "Is Jon dead?"

The Night King stared at her for a moment.

_No._

Relief flooded her chest. "Why not? He would've tried to fight you."

_He did. He failed._

"But you let him live?"

_He was of no consequence. My focus was elsewhere._

"Of no consequence," she repeated faintly, tears sparking her eyes. "But Bran was. Wasn't he? And you killed him."

_The Seer was an annoyance that I no longer tolerated. He played his part well._

"And what was that?"

Instead of answering her, he just sat there, back ramrod straight, hands on knees. Then a feeling like dripping ice slid over her head and shoulders and she knew what was happening.

"No!" she choked out before everything spun. He was inside her mind again.

_Come._

She couldn't even resist. Her body moved of its own will.

_Closer._

She dropped to her knees in front of him. Her hip scraped the side of the shin plating encasing his boot. Had she angered him to the point of no return? What was he going to do to her? Helpless fear took over every sense. She'd been here before. At the mercy of someone else.

_What I want…_

His voice slithered across her mind.

_...you can't yet give me._

Sansa felt as though he was squeezing her entire body in his fist. Then she was moving again, between his knees. Closer to him. He gripped her face hard and gave a small smile. Then his mouth descended onto hers in a grotesque parody of a kiss. He was hard and unrelenting. His nails dug into her cheeks but didn't break the skin.

She wanted to struggle and scream but couldn't. Her mouth opened, treacherously letting him inside. Her entire body betrayed her, moving as he moved, allowing him to do whatever he wanted with her. It was worse than what Ramsey had done to her. At least then, she hadn't been trapped inside her own mind.

Then he suddenly let her go.

Not physically, but whatever connection he had to her mind was severed. Her body was her own again. His mouth was still on hers, but it was less of a kiss and more of a punishment. It felt like he was taunting her, knowing she wasn't strong enough to free herself from him, but trying to let her anyway.

Sansa didn't waste time trying to scream or hit him. She simply bit down. Hard. To her amazement, he didn't push her away or act wounded. He just held her tight, as if her teeth digging into his tongue was a pleasant experience.

Did he even feel pain?

She let go of his tongue, and he let go of her face long enough to draw back to better see her. There was no blood on his mouth, she noted with fear. He didn't even look angry.

_Either you will bow to me or you will die._

She trembled at his words and the fact that he was still touching her.

_The living have no place with the dead._

She barely found her voice. The taste of him made her want to retch. "You aren't dead." Dead men didn't … want.

_Neither am I truly alive._

Then he let her go and she collapsed at his feet.

XXXXX

"Milord, there's no sign of the Lady Sansa."

Jon turned away from the man and started walking toward his horse.

"Ser, where are you going? Your sister-"

"I know where she is." Jon mounted the horse and took the reins. He looked down at the man. "Send ravens the other northern houses. Tell them to seek shelter in the Eyrie, somehow. Winterfell is no longer safe. The North has fallen."

Then he rode off. The Night King had a dragon and two days head start. Jon would have to ride hard day and night to catch up and even then, he'd be praying his horse didn't drop dead first.

He could only hope that Dany had made it around the army of the dead and was on her way to King's Landing. And that Cersei could be convinced to help them. And that neither Dany or Arya would be killed along the way.

His entire future and those of mankind hinged on his desperate hopes.

Suddenly a screeching and whoosh of air had him pull up tight on the reins. Rhaegal landed hard on the ground in front of him. The horse neighed and tried to buck Jon off.

He stared at the dragon, having never ridden him without Dany present before.

He dismounted and approached cautiously. The dragon seemed impatient, stamping one foot and the leaving the biggest print Jon had ever seen.

"Alright, alright. I understand," he said softly, reaching out a hand to placate the beast.

Then a smile stretched across his face and he realized the odds had just evened out more in his favor.

XXXXX

Sam turned his head to look back one more time.

"You can't help them now," Gilly said gently, putting a hand on his shoulder.

He looked down at his hands that twisted together in anxious fear. "I know. It's still hard." He took another moment to wish for things that could never be, and then sighed and straightened. "You two get in the boat and I'll push."

Gilly climbed over the edge of the small dinghy and sat the rear. Sam handed her Little Sam who she protectively cradled in her lap and braced herself with one hand on the side of the boat. Sam pushed and pushed until the boat was in the freezing water and then he hurried over the edge to take his seat opposite Gilly. The oars were stored underneath the flimsy seats. He took them out and began to row them out to sea.

"Remember," Gilly warned, "stay close to shore until we see Widow's Watch."

"I will." Sam's smile was thin and more than a little sad.

Gilly leaned forward. "Hey," she said, waiting until she captured his attention. "We will be back, I promise. As soon as we find some way to help them."

He nodded but a tear leaked out of the corner of his eye. "I know, but it just feels like we're never going to see anyone we love ever again."

"You're the smartest man I know, Samwell Tarly. If anyone can find a way to help our friends you can." Gilly was firm. "We'll go to Braavos first. Replenish supplies."

Sam nodded. At the very least, Braavos did not have White Walkers. Or dragons. Or vicious queens intent on world domination. His family would be safer. He smiled at his wife and this time there was more warmth in it.

Gilly smiled back and pulled Little Sam closer to her breast. The air and sea were freezing. They'd managed to scavenge from various now-empty castles and strongholds they'd ridden past on the way to the sea, but it was still cold.

Sam had given her a map to memorize in case something happened to him. They'd reach Widow's Watch soon and from there it was south to Baelish Keep, which they assumed would be relatively empty after the death of its Lord. Then due east to Braavos.

Until then, she held her son and treasured these precious moments together. They were still alive.

XXXXX

Drogon raised his head and sniffed the air. Dany looked at him in alarm. Something was coming.

"Get on," she ordered, motioning to the other two. "We must leave."

Both Arya and Jaime were on their feet in an instant, adrenaline pumping through their bodies in anticipation of a fight. Dany let them crawl up her dragon first while she kept watch on the sky. There was only one thing she was afraid of at the moment.

The Night King.

But it was from the wrong the direction, she noted. Drogon was looking toward the north, while the army of the dead was south. Still…

She slid into her usual place and Drogon rose to the sky. It was colder up there but, unless Drogon met with his sibling, safer. They rode in silence for several minutes but nobody relaxed.

Just as Dany thought about her next move, a sudden _whoosh_ whirred at the side of her face.

Her jerked toward it.

There was nothing there.

Then through the fog and clouds, an enormous red-tinged face emerged. Dany's heart leapt to her throat and she veered away on Drogon.

_How?_ was all she could wonder as Viserion barely missed them once again. How was the Night King coming from Winterfell's direction?

She didn't have time for fear to take root. She pressed her knees into Drogon's sides, signaling him to fly faster. He flew forward and them dipped and plunged straight toward the ground. Behind her, Viserion followed. Drogon pulled up at the last second, recovering nicely, while Viserion was less graceful.

"Dracarys!" Dany yelled, and Drogon spewed a stream of fire straight at the other dragon. Viserion shot up into the sky and disappeared again in the clouds.

"We have to get out of here," Arya yelled behind her. "We can't fight him."

Dany agreed. With her heart still racing, she urged Drogon on and up, maneuvering him to fly east instead of south. She didn't want to risk running into the Night King's army and being surrounded. Not with him at their backs.

Then Drogon howled in pain, screeching as he lost flight and fell toward the earth. An icy sword stuck in the side of his neck, just in front of Dany's left knee. He did his best to land without further injury, but Dany and her companions fell off as he skidded over the ground like a skipping stone.

Pain blinded her a few seconds after her body connected with the hard earth. She couldn't breathe. Her vision tinged black and her ears rang. Somewhere in front of her Arya crawled, but she didn't know if it was towards or away from the Night King.

Cold hands wrapped around her throat and pulled her up. She hissed in pain. One arm was broken and she was pretty sure her hip had dislocated. The Night King sneered down at her, one hand coming toward her face.

Something sharp pressed against her cheek. She struggled to get away from him and pulled on the arm holding her by the throat. It was futile.

Suddenly, she was aware of her desire to escape receding. Pushing further and further away into the recesses of her mind until it disappeared completely. Her hand dropped away from the Night King's. Then he released her, setting her on the ground.

She stood facing him, blue eyes staring at blue eyes. Her pain was gone. So was the cold. Hunger, love, desire, vengeance, anger… These were all gone too, at least for the moment.

She felt as if her entire life had been spent coiled tightly in a ball and now… Now she could finally stretch. Nothing could hurt her.

Dany turned around slowly to watch her king stride over to Jaime Lannister and do the same. He put up much more of a fight, having seen what had been done to her. But in the end, he went the same way.

They stood together to watch as their king walked over to Drogon, now screeching with the sudden loss of contact with his mother.

The screeching died away very suddenly and Daenerys gave a hint of a smile. Without the pain of his injury, Drogon crouched on his legs and turned toward his new master.

_Drogon._

Dany called him in her mind and he answered by moving toward her.

The King headed back toward Viserion and remounted him. Dany noticed a human on the dragon's back for the first time.

With their mental connection, the Night King knew her question. _She belongs to me._

That's all that Dany needed to know and she turned to Drogon and mounted him as well. Jaime silently, and with far more grace than he'd ever managed as a one-handed man, came up behind her to take his place.

The dragons took flight and with their King in the lead, they flew to rejoin the rest of their kind marching steadily toward more men and more death.

Dany intensified her grip on Drogon's scales and relished the thought.

**So, some things were left hanging deliberately. After all, gotta have something to write about next chapter. Lol. About the Dany scene, I know it was rushed-like in the show I know she wouldn't (and didn't) go down so easy and fast-but I wanted it over with to continue on the story. She's not a major part of the narrative. Kinda just a loose end. Same for Jaime.**

**Arya on the other hand has more to do. And the conditions for her to get away unnoticed were SORT OF feasible. After all, the Night King might not have seen her on Drogon's back. He's not all knowing all powerful.**

**Funny story-the part in the beginning where Rhaegal shows up for Jon-totally last minute addition. I realized when I was done that although he's dead in the show, I'm pretty sure I haven't killed Rhaegal off in this story yet. Pretty sure. If anyone knows differently, let me know so I can somehow change it. But you know, if the dragon's alive why the hell is Jon galloping off on a horse? LOL Had to change it.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Just a warning, there is smut ahead. Just a little. **

**Just a side note-for some reason, when I see pics of Viserion on Google I see a red dragon. BUT he is not red. He's CREAM COLORED with GOLD MARKINGS according to official descriptions. I don't see it. Thus the description of a "red face" in the last chapter. Maybe I should get checked out by a doctor.**

**I might eventually change it, but probably not anytime soon. I just wanted **_**ya'll to know**_** that **_**I know**_** it was messed up. If anyone noticed. **

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Arya had been shaken at first. She'd crawled off as quickly as possible, being the only one who'd not been seriously injured in the fall. Daenerys had a broken arm at the very least, and Jaime, last she saw, was pulling something sharp from in between his ribs.

From her hiding place in a ditch, she'd peeked when everything suddenly went quiet. She'd known without actually seeing their eyes, that Dany and Jaime were no longer human. They just stood by as the Night King did as he pleased.

She'd watched as he also turned the dragon. That had been enough to make her feel fear she'd not felt in a long time. Dragons were the most powerful things on earth. The Night King had just casually walked over and turned him into … she didn't know what. Were they dead now?

She didn't know about that, but what she did know was that she had to keep walking. Find a horse and ride to King's Landing. Get there somehow and make Cersei help. Or else kill her and anyone else who got in her way.

In the back of her mind, she wondered if the soldiers at King's Landing would even be enough to beat the Night King. Would anything?

XXXXX

Sansa was so cold. There wasn't anything she could think of right now that she wouldn't give or do to get warm again. Her body sat limply in front of the Night King, his cold legs pressing on either side of her. He was making it worse, she thought distantly.

Her head laid against his chest, lifeless. A low-grade fever had taken hold sometime after he'd turned Dany and the others (_where's Arya…?_) and she could feel her energy draining.

_Please…_

XXXXX

_Please…_

The Night King twitched his head to look at her. She'd reached out to him with her mind, knowingly or not, to beg for her life.

For one moment, he considered turning her. Right then. Everything would then be solved for him. Humans needed so much to stay alive. He needed nothing.

His hand lifted-then dropped back down over the flat of her stomach and settled there firmly.

He was able to do a lot. More than any human. But he had no power to make fire, at least not with magic.

_Go. Make certain the ruins are secure. _He directed this command to his oldest lieutenant, the first he'd ever turned, and knew it would be obeyed without hesitation.

Keeping a firm grip on Sansa, he urged the dragon faster. She needed what he could not provide, but possibly inside the ruins of Moat Cailin there would be warmth and rest.

If he wanted her to bow to him of her own free will, then sacrifices must be made. The realm of man was not going to flee from his grasp anytime soon. It could be delayed for a little while.

XXXXX

Sansa's dreams were feverish. Sometimes so dark and nightmarish she screamed aloud in her delirium. Other times, she dreamt of her family and days long past. Long, warm summers daydreaming of princes and white knights and true love.

The fever weakened the defenses of her mind and the Night King was easily able to slip in.

But he wasn't the Night King. Not at first glance.

She was in a beautiful place, more beautiful than anything in or around Winterfell, but somehow she knew she was home. The castle stood in the distance and in front of her was a garden edged by a forest. She picked wildflowers and hummed idly.

"Hello."

Sansa looked up and saw a handsome man dressed all in black approaching her from the treeline. A distant warning bell sounded far away in her mind, but she smiled anyway. This man was harmless. He had a friendly smile and beautiful blue eyes. Her breath quickened in her chest a bit.

"Hello," she responded.

He glanced around them and then at her. "What is your name?"

"Sansa. And yours?"

He paused and angled his head, contemplating.

She laughed. It was a delightful sound, rarely heard. "Do you not know your own name, Ser?"

"Sometimes I almost forget," he admitted, though smiling to let her know he was teasing. "Barron. My name is Barron."

"Barron what?"

He shook his head and came closer, glancing down at the bundle of flowers she'd collected. "Do you always barrage the men you just meet with questions?" His tone was light and playful.

"I hardly ever meet strange men, so I've never had the opportunity. Have you come to see my father?" He didn't answer. Standing so close to him, she had to admit he made her a bit breathless. "Have we met before? You look familiar."

"I would remember meeting a woman such as you, Sansa." He took her hand and raised it to his lips. She shivered as their skin made contact.

"I … must be mistaken then," she murmured, looking up at him, almost hypnotized. Those eyes… so blue… so familiar…

His features began to change ever so slowly. Above her, the sky darkened as if it would rain. She looked up and a raindrop fell onto her cheek like a tear. She winced at the cold feel of it. When she looked back at Barron, she gasped and shrank away. He released her hand.

He was no longer just a man, but instead, the Night King as she'd always known him.

"What is the matter, Sansa?" he asked, his voice sounding as it did before when he looked human.

"You-how?" She was frightened now. The sky rapidly darkened and rain had begun to fall.

"This is your dream," he said. "I simply came inside."

"And ruined it," she said bitterly. "My dreams are all I have left and now not even those are safe."

"I stayed too long," he admitted. "My presence can cause … certain effects."

"Who was that man? Were you him the whole time?"

"Of course. I did not want to frighten you. You are unwell."

"Unwell," she repeated. "If you would let me go I'd be fine." She vaguely remembered being on a dragon and feeling feverish. Something nagged at the back of her mind. "Who was that man you were pretending to be? I know him. He was … familiar."

The Night King didn't answer.

Suddenly, she grew very warm. Snippets of a previous dream flashed through her mind. The man… She'd dreamt of him the night she'd been taken and her brother killed. Is that why the Night King had taken his form?

But he'd seemed familiar even then, as if she knew him before the dream.

Her mind was in control again and the Night King disappeared, as did everything else. Flashes of a tent lit only by firelight, bodies entwined and moaning, undulating sensations of pleasure and warmth… She both saw the scene and was a willing participant at the same time.

Barron moaned into her mouth, pressing against her. "Sansa, come to me…"

Her legs tightened around his hips, urging him deeper and faster. His fingers dug into the side of her thigh.

"Please," she gasped, arching her back.

For one moment, she was Sansa, standing at the edge of the tent, looking on in horror, disgust, and just the tiniest bit of want. Then she was Sansa, a willing participant. It flickered back and forth, her mind feverish and not thinking coherently.

_This is wrong_, she thought, backing away, once more detached by the exit, on the edge of the dream. _He's the Night King. He's not real. _

"You have to choose one," Barron whispered seductively, close to her ear. One of his hands moved from her thigh to her waist and upward to cup a breast. She arched under his touch. "You can stay over there and just watch … or you can stay here … with me … like this." He pressed against her once more and she almost gave in to everything she despised.

_No!_

Her eyes flew open.

She was awake now.

And very angry.

"_You_," she seethed in fury, trying to sit up on whatever makeshift bed she'd been lying upon.

It was a struggle but she managed to get up onto one elbow. She fought back the dizziness that threatened to overtake her again.

He was there somewhere, she knew it. She scanned the dimly lit room and found him almost immediately. He sat directly in front of her across the room, staring as always, this time with a small look of irritation.

"_You_ stay out of my head," she hissed.

The Night King stood up and approached her bed. Sansa didn't waver or back down.

"I'm not afraid of you."

Ever so slowly, his mouth turned up at the corners.

_Good._

That was not what she expected him to say and a tiny bit of doubt crept in. Did she really know what he wanted after all? He was threatening her, trying to control her, and invading her mind. Of course he wanted her to fear him.

"You _are_ him. The man from my dream … Barron. Don't try to deny it."

The Night King made no attempt to do so. _Once._

She wracked her brain to remember details. A name he'd called her… _Allana._

_You … look like her._

She met his eyes in surprise and remembered the ends of red hair across pale sheets. "That's why you're doing this," she said, a new sort of understanding dawning. She'd been so wrong before.

She _did_ know what he wanted from her.

Sansa grabbed a fistful of the old 'blanket' draped across her body and threw it aside. Her legs were shaky but she stood up anyway and faced him. "My brother… He showed me something. From the past." Everything Bran had told her and shown her before came flooding back, the pieces clicking into place.

The Night King didn't speak.

Sansa looked the creature standing in front of her over and saw him through new eyes. Barron _Stark_. The man from her dream was Barron Stark who was the Night King. Brother to Brandon Stark who built Winterfell. "You … were human once."

"Long ago," the Night King rasped out.

"Your brother… He was … heartbroken." If the Night King had any love left in his heart, she hoped to discover it now. If she could somehow persuade him to let her go…

Maybe he would even stop his army from killing everything in Westeros.

The Night King raised an eyebrow the barest of fractions. _Humans are weak. He could not understand that his brother was no more. I became something greater. Something better. He could not live with that._

"And what about Allana? You loved her. I felt it," she whispered.

_Yes, you did. The Seer created a link in your mind, which now remains, though I do not think he knew that he'd done so. What you saw … what you felt … was a memory of the past. Nothing more._

"What happened to her?"

_What happens to all humans, eventually. _

"She died."

The Night King turned away and she sensed he was done with the conversation. A wave of nausea passed through her but she couldn't give in. Not yet.

"Wait. Please, let me go. Your brother was my ancestor. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

He turned back and sneered. _No._

"You are a Stark." _That_ had to mean something to him.

He stepped closer to her, close enough to touch. _I _was_ a Stark. Now I am the Night King. Lord of ice and night and death._ He raised a finger and traced the curve of her cheek. She shuddered. _Bow to me, Sansa, and you will have power beyond your imagination._

"To be another one of your mindless followers?" she whispered, staying perfectly still as he placed his thumb over her cheekbone.

_No. You would be … more._

She didn't believe him. "You promised _her_ you would never leave. But you did. Why should I trust you?"

Bran's words came back to echo in her mind. When he'd shown her the vision of their ancestor at the Godswood, he'd said he was doing it "for him." The Night King.

So he could see it?

He'd already seen inside her mind and it hadn't worked. What then?

_If I can feel emotions through those memories … can he feel the same way?_

She acted without further thought, suddenly putting her hand on his face and closing her eyes. She didn't know quite what she was doing or if it would work, but she did know that there was some sort of bridge between their minds and if he could enter hers, then she was sure she could enter his.

The Night King gripped her hand hard but the onslaught of emotions was overwhelming. He hadn't felt anything this strong in thousands of years. It was blinding. He couldn't loosen her grip right away.

Sansa concentrated on him, his family, his wife. Anything from when he was human. Anything that could make him remember he'd been human once. She fell deeper and deeper into the past.

"_Barron!" a child yelled across a field…_

_A wedding under a Godswood. Vows exchanged. A kiss… not the first kiss. _

_The first time he saw Allana… she was so beautiful. The most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. _

_The worst moment of his life… _

Sansa saw that memory as if she were him. Shirtless, strapped to a tree-a Godswood tree-and gagged. There was no one to help. No one to save him from whatever the Children were going to do to him. They took him for revenge. It was what he deserved, in their eyes. The perfect justice against the Men who were killing them and raping their forests.

He would never see his brothers again. Bran who had been his constant companion since the day Barron had been born. Roric who had never wanted to be a warrior and had only loved books and daydreaming.

He would never see his wife again, Allana. Never hold her, never make love to her. Never see their child born.

His child…

He struggled hard against the bonds that held him. One creature came forward holding something sharp. She pushed it slowly into his chest, into his heart, and he thought he would die from the agony.

His last thought was of Allana.

But he didn't die. What they did to him was worse than death.

Somehow beyond the memory, the Night King managed to gain control and sever their tie.

Sansa sat heavily on the bed, her heart feeling as though it would break in two, and tears running down her cheeks to drip on the sleeves of her gown. She didn't notice the Night King until his hand was wrapped around her throat and she was shoved backward onto the bed. He dragged her further up onto the blanket and held her down with the weight of one leg over hers.

Sansa's mind was in shambles. Echoes of emotions and memories from ages ago rolled over her. "I'm sorry," she cried. "I'm so sorry." She _was_ sorry, for the man he'd once been, for his family who'd loved him, for the destruction of so many lives.

_Do not try that again. _

His tone was cold and threatening but she barely noticed.

"I'm sorry," was all she could say.

He looked down at her in disgust and then released her throat.

_You are fortunate that you did not completely lose yourself. You _will_ if you ever attempt to go into my mind again._

He got up off her and then stared down briefly.

_You don't know what you've done. But you will. Soon._

Sansa barely noticed he was gone. Overwhelming fear and grief blinded her to everything but it. She curled up onto her side and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to also shut out the pain of a man who'd been as good as dead for six thousand years.

**Well, Sansa messed up, but really it **_**was**_** a good plan. The Night King did feel something, it's just that she felt it more. This was a very touchy-feely chapter full of emotions, BUT I am planning on these two forming a relationship. The key to that is feelings. Not just hot smutty memory sex.**

**So… Jon will finally catch up next chapter. I imagine that seeing Dany as a White Walker and Sansa as a captive will go much the same way as when Rickon was killed he decided to charge Ramsey's army all by himself back in season 6. **

**On another note, I do have the ending planned out. Hopefully, if I don't mess everything up or forget key details, it will all come together in the end. I had originally planned out 2 different endings, one happy-ish, one happy-in-a-different-way ish. I picked the one I wanted a couple chapters ago and just thought I'd let ya'll know. **


	9. Chapter 9

The Night King stood staring out of a window in a crumbling tower. His army surrounded the ancient ruins of Moat Cailin, just waiting for his next order.

He was greatly bothered by what had happened earlier with Sansa. He still felt echoes of emotions from her intrusion into his mind.

It was something he hadn't foreseen happening.

He didn't have the powers of a Seer, but with his limited mental abilities there was still a lot that he could predict. Sansa Stark fighting against him in that way should have been one of those things. But he hadn't seen it coming.

She was becoming tiresome. Just as Allana had, long ago.

He distantly remembered his wife and how she had begged him for the sake of their son not to turn her. It had been the only act of mercy he'd ever shown after becoming the Night King.

And in the end, he'd killed her. Eight months later, from afar, he'd watched a funeral held for his son who'd died of no known cause. His last ties to the realm of Men died twenty years later with his brother Bran and he'd never thought about them again.

Not until he'd felt the boy, also called Brandon Stark, mentally awaken, years ago. Through him, he'd seen the world six thousand years later. He'd seen the castle his brother had built to help safeguard the world from him. The castle where his son had died. Where he would've lived out his days with Allana had the Children not taken and turned him.

For the first time, he'd felt a twinge of regret. And interest in his brother's descendants. The Stark house.

Now he could see how all this was hindering him and his conquest of mankind. It must end.

And it would.

The other boy, the one who challenged him, who killed one of his lieutenants beyond the Wall, he was coming. Of that he was sure. His sister was here. It was just a matter of when.

He hoped the boy would bring the last dragon with him when he did. It would be the perfect compliment for his ever-growing army.

Sansa had said she'd been afraid he was using her as bait at first. That was just what he was going to do now. She was useless to him if she couldn't grasp the power that was just within her reach.

He'd bait Jon Snow, turn him and his dragon, and then kill his sister. Then the march southward would resume. After all he had others he wanted, as well as Jon Snow.

He turned from the window and walked to the room where he was keeping Sansa Stark. She was pale and lying still on the pile of blankets he'd found and draped over a long stone block, leftover from where it had once been a part of a wall. Going into his mind had hurt her, he knew. She hadn't recovered.

He stood over and stared down at her. A curious part of him wondered what she was dreaming about. It would be so easy to slip into her mind, and now that he'd recovered from her assault on his mind, he knew it wouldn't hurt him.

No.

He turned away.

But she would be gone soon. This would be his last chance. He paused.

Then turned back and took a seat on a nearby partial stone block. Opening his mind, he delved into hers.

As soon as he entered, he knew something was horribly wrong.

He _was_ her.

Seeing everything through her eyes and emotions. Not just a spectator. Not able to interact with her.

At the mercy of her mind.

Intense sadness and grief poured over him. He was in a dark empty room. A man stood in front of him. Or rather Sansa.

"Father."

"Sansa."

She rushed forward, enveloping him in hug. "I've missed you so much. I needed you." Tears poured down her face, soaking her father's shirt.

His warm hands pressed against her back, holding her to him tightly. "I've missed you too. I've missed all of you."

Sansa sobbed into his chest, her shoulders shaking from the effort.

"I wish I wouldn't have had to die. I wish you hadn't simply stood by and watched them murder me."

Sansa was sure she hadn't heard right. She drew back and sniffed back tears. "What?"

Her father's face was the same weathered, stern but loving face she'd known since as far back as she could remember. But his words. He'd never said a mean thing to her in her entire life. "I didn't. I couldn't-they lied to me. Joffrey said he would show you mercy! I didn't know!"

Ned wiped her tears away with his thumb. "I know, Sansa. You were always different. Never really one of us. You didn't know what they were going to do because you didn't want to." His face darkened and then he was choking her. "Our family was ripped apart because of you. Rickon died because of the man you married. Bran died and still you did nothing. Arya and Jon will die too."

She couldn't breathe. His grip was too tight. With every hateful word he spoke, he tightened his grip, crushing her windpipe.

But as the world darkened around her, she knew he was right. She deserved this. Deserved death. She was weak her whole life.

No one can protect anyone… especially not her.

The Night King broke free just as everything went black. He was himself again, shaken and overwhelmed but himself. He looked around. He was still in Sansa's mind. Everything was empty. Ned Stark was gone. As was Sansa. Why was _he_ still here?

He was trapped.

No, wait. There was someone else. He cocked his head toward the faint sound of … crying.

Sansa. A much younger Sansa was on the floor crying. Her hair was different, as was her style of dress. He suspected this change had something to do with what he'd just witnessed, but he couldn't know for sure.

He didn't say anything, simply extended his hand toward her. Sansa finally noticed him, but wasn't afraid as she normally would be. She took his hand and he pulled her to a standing position. She was slightly shorter here than in reality.

"Thank you, Ser," she sniffed.

The Night King stared down at her and she couldn't meet his eyes. It almost seemed … childish.

She _was_ a child, in this dream.

"What was the happiest moment that you can remember?" he asked her. He needed to break free of this suffocating emotion that was trapping him here. For that, he needed her cooperation.

She looked up at him then, so solemnly, with wide blue eyes. "I don't know."

"Think," he ordered.

"The happiest moment…" she murmured, looking to the side. A few moments passed, and then she smiled wistfully. "When I found Jon. At the Wall. I wasn't alone anymore."

She was grown up again and looked as she did when he'd first seen her. A stabbing sense of guilt at what he was going to do to the boy caused a pain in his heart.

He had to get out of here.

"This isn't a dream anymore, is it? Why are you here?" she asked, fatigue and pain coloring her tone.

It was best to be direct. After all, it didn't matter if she knew her fate or not. And once he was out of her mind, these … _feelings_ … he was having would be gone.

"I was curious. Soon Jon Snow will come for you and when he does he will turn. Then your usefulness will be at an end."

Sansa didn't look surprised, but there was pain in her eyes that was hard for him to ignore. "You're going to kill me. Because of what I did."

"Yes." She was very astute.

Sansa blinked back tears. "Is there… can't you leave Jon alone?" Her voice was steady as if she already knew the answer.

"No."

She accepted his answer without protest, probably knowing it would do no good. He turned away to concentrate on breaking free from her mind but then she called him back.

"Wait."

He paused mid-stride, not really wanting to speak to her anymore, but after their shared experiences-and the fact that he was going to kill her and her loved ones very soon-he thought that he could give her time to say a few last words. He turned around to face her once more and waited expectantly.

She stood still for several seconds.

_She was very beautiful_, he thought. _So much like Allana._

Sansa moved forward in a rush, touching his face with both hands, catching him by surprise. "You wanted this once." She kissed him fully, pressing her body against his. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, licking and stroking his own until he was almost dizzy.

He broke away. "What are you doing?" His voice was hoarse, but this time from desire, not years of disuse.

Sansa lowered herself to her knees and looked up at him. "I'm giving you what you have wanted. I am bowing to you. Giving myself to you in whatever way you want." She lowered her head in deference to show she was completely serious.

The Night King stared down at her. He was finished with Sansa Stark. He had no use for her anymore, except as bait to capture her brother. His head might be muddled at the moment but he was aware of why she was doing this.

"In exchange for Jon Snow's life," he said.

"Yes."

"And should I say 'No'?"

"If you don't want me anymore, then I know you will kill me." She swallowed hard and he thought he detected a hint of moisture in her eyes.

"And I suppose you will want to beg for your life."

Once more, he was surprised by her actions when she gave a small shake of her head. "No."

"Why not? It is a common human trait, to beg."

She didn't answer.

He knelt down in front of her. "I have already made up my mind."

"You can change it if you wanted to."

"What would you do if I accepted your offer and then turned Jon anyway. Or killed him right in front of you?" That thought made him wince internally. Could he watch her scream in agony?

Of course. He had before.

"Then I will kill myself and end all of this anyway." She said it so calmly and because they were inside her mind he knew she was telling the truth.

"And what if I decide to turn you right now?"

Her breath hitched, but she remained calm. "I assume once I am like you my feelings on the matter won't be of consequence."

But he knew she did not want it. Not yet.

However, the memory of Sansa Stark kissing him of her own volition caused a shot of desire deep in his abdomen. She on her knees, bowing to him, giving him at least a part of what he wanted from her. Should he give her another chance?

He had to admit to only himself that he _wanted_ her. Badly.

It would be of no consequence to delay his plans for a short while. He _would_ have Jon under his control, but he could always save him until the end. When Sansa had decided to accept his offer of eternal life and power, as he knew she would eventually.

Being inside her mind this way had given him much insight to her weaknesses.

He stood up and extended his hand once more. She took it, only hesitating for a moment.

XXXXX

Jon saw the dead standing below him. He circled around Moat Cailin looking for the one he wanted the most.

"Dracarys," he whispered and Rhaegal lit up the Night King's army.

Sansa was here somewhere and he had to find her. He kept a sharp eye out for any flash of red hair. He didn't want to light her on fire after just finding her.

Suddenly in the window of a half-crumbling tower, he saw him. The Night King. He wore the most unusual expression and Jon realized that he'd never seen any kind of emotion of his face before.

Except for that time at Hardhome, he remembered. He'd been almost taunting Jon then with a grotesque display of his power over the dead.

Jon landed Rhaegal close to the tower and whispered, "Destroy whatever comes close." Somehow he knew the dragon had understood and left him to find Sansa.

He ran inside the tower and up the half-crumbled stairs. The window he'd seen the Night King standing in was now empty of his presence. Although this was most likely a trap, he couldn't walk away. Not until he saw Sansa.

_What if she's dead?_ a voice whispered.

He ignored it, but slowed down and cautiously took in his surroundings. Where would Sansa be? Somewhere close, he assumed. There was a opening across the way and he swore he saw the flicker of a candle. The Night King didn't need light, nor fire, nor warmth.

_Sansa._

He swallowed and crept toward the opening, sword ready in hand. The opening lead to a room where Sansa sat on the edge of a stone, rubbing her temples.

"Sansa," he breathed.

His sister looked up and he was struck by how pale and ill she appeared. He went to her and knelt down. "Sansa, you're alright?"

She reached out and touched the side of his face. "Jon, you have to go."

"Come with me." He stood up and reached for her hand but she didn't move.

"I … can't."

"What do you mean, you can't?"

She swallowed hard. "I'm staying with him. You have to leave."

Jon couldn't believe his ears. Something was wrong. "What is it? What's he done to you?"

"Nothing. He hasn't done anything," she lied. "I gave my word. I've … bent the knee." She gave a humorless smile.

Jon's confused and trusting face stared up at her. "I don't understand. What does that mean?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar shape move from the entrance of the room toward them. He whirled around, sword ready and pointed at the Night King's throat.

It was Valyrian steel but the Night King was unafraid. He was unarmed and Jon took the opportunity to ram his sword through his chest. Unlike previous encounters with White Walkers, the Night King did not burst into ice chunks and die. He simply smirked and then stepped back until Jon's sword was no longer inside him.

Then he stepped over to Sansa and stood next to her. Jon looked between them. "Sansa, please, come with me."

Sansa didn't look him in the eye and his heart sank. She wasn't coming. Instead, she pushed off the hard surface that she was seated on and stood. The Night King held out his hand which she took, after several seconds hesitation.

Jon saw all of this and processed it quickly. The bastard had killed his brother, destroyed thousands of lives, taken his sister, and was now forcing her to… He didn't know what. He only know she was acquiescing to him when, after Ramsey, she would never do anything of the sort.

He saw red and charged the Night King. It was a fight that was short lived. He got one blow in and then his enemy literally threw him across the room. He vaguely heard Sansa plead for his life.

"Please, you gave your word."

Jon's head was bleeding. In a blur, he saw Sansa walk past him with the Night King and leave the room.

_I love you, Jon._

Had she said that aloud or was it simply in his head?

He didn't know, but when he was able to walk moments later, he stumbled to that lone window from before and saw Viserion flying away, the Night King on its back.

A stream of red hair billowed behind him.

**Yay! Got through a very emotional 2 chapters. Can't believe it. BUT now everything is more aligned and on track for the rest of the story. **

**That being said, I think/hope that everyone who reads this chapter knows what really went down. I mean, like, when she bowed and gave herself to the NK. There's no way Sansa goes through Joffrey, Littlefinger, and Ramsey without learning what makes a megalomaniac tick. That's one thing that always bothered me about the Ramsey period-Sansa NOT taking cues from Margaery (however you spell it) and playing the psycho for all he's worth. I only say this because by then her character arc had already taken a more assertive turn during her stay in the Eyrie. Then it was like she backtracked. **

**Of course, one cannot prepare for Ramsey Bolton. One simply deals. **


	10. Chapter 10

**So … this is pretty smut heavy chapter. Yeah. It was hard, actually, to try and keep everyone in character as much as possible. At the end, I totally stole something from the books, which ya'll will probably be able to guess after reading it. Took inspiration from, shall we say.**

For once, since the Night King took her, Sansa wasn't cold. She wasn't hungry anymore either. Pyke had provided food, shelter, and warmth.

At great expense to its people.

Sansa glanced at the fire dancing in the hearth with guilt and sorrow. It was her fault all those people had been massacred. The Night King flew from Moat Cailin west to the Iron Islands and made his presence known. Viserion blasted every ship in the harbors and probably killed most of the Ironborn before he landed on a beach and deposited his passengers.

The Night King had led her to the tallest tower of Pyke and then left. To Sansa's amazement, three girls and one old man filed in afterwards, looking brave but shaken.

The old man spoke first. "We don't have much food but the sea provides. Mary here will fetch you bread and ale in the meantime." The one she assumed was Mary ducked her head and ran off.

"Nera, start a fire," he ordered another girl, who immediately began to obey.

"Please, stop," Sansa cried, and everyone paused. "What are you _doing_?"

The old man stood stiffly, but couldn't meet her eyes for more than a second. "He… he told us to give you food and warmth."

"The Night King?"

"We don't know his name, miss. The one with the dragon." He shuddered a bit at the last part. Even the Ironborn could could feel fear when confronted with the horrifying and unreal.

Sansa turned away. This was why he'd destroyed most of the Ironborn? To feed her? "Did he say where he was going?"

The looks on their faces told her he had not.

"Please, miss, let us get on with it," he asked in a strained voice.

She nodded and went to the window. Was this her life now? Was she to stay in Pyke forever? She'd bowed to him and swore herself to him, in whatever way he wanted. Jon was alive because of that. But how many more would die?

Still, when no one was in the room anymore and the fire was roaring, she went to it and knelt down, warming herself as if she'd never felt heat before. It took an hour for her shaking to cease. Nera brought her ale and bread which she devoured in mere seconds.

"More is coming, miss," Nera said in a small voice.

Sansa looked up at her. "My name is Sansa Stark of Winterfell. You need to get off this island and go somewhere safe."

"We have no ships, Milady. Some of the men swam to shore but the water's too cold. I'll freeze before I make it."

"If _he_ comes back, hide somewhere in this tower. He wants me alive-for some reason-and he won't harm the place where I'm staying."

"Milady, what does he want you for?" Nera asked, her eyes widening in speculation.

Sansa looked deep into the fire. "Nothing good."

The girl left when she didn't say more, and then Sansa was alone except for the occasional delivery of cooked fish and whatever else the servants could find. Finally, she told them she'd had enough and they stopped coming.

With her stomach full and the bone-chilling cold at bay, Sansa stripped off her meager cloak and curled up on the floor in front of the fire to sleep. She didn't think it possible, but she drifted off after only a few minutes of watching the flames.

In her dreams, she saw fire and ice and death. But also life. The lives of those she'd lost to war, the lives of people she'd never even met. That was surely because of her connection to the Night King. They'd all thought the Night King and the White Walkers were just mindless dead things, but she knew better than anyone that wasn't true.

He wasn't dead. Not at all. And now he was her king.

What was she supposed to do? Almost every fiber of her being told her to rebel, not to give into this monster, but there was a part she was too scared to acknowledge that wanted the things he'd shown her. The power. No more death, no more pain, no more fear.

Sansa woke up with a start and looked around. She was still alone and the fire was still burning.

She was safe.

XXXXX

It was days later when _he_ finally came back for her. She'd been going mad, staying in her rooms all day and night. The last thing she wanted to see was everybody's accusing eyes glaring at her. All the destruction her arrival had brought. But being cooped up in Balon Greyjoy's bedchamber wasn't so great either. All she had was time to think about everything that had happened and everything that was happening without her, out there.

It was the screams she heard first and rushed to window to see what was happening. In the distance, Viserion flew closer and closer until he landed on the beach with a loud roar. The Night King descended and then stopped, turning his head to look up at the tower she was staying in.

Right at her.

She jumped back and started pacing. What should she do? What _could_ she do? She'd swore to be his in exchange for Jon's life.

She couldn't trust that he'd keep his word.

But she also couldn't jeopardize her brother's life.

The door opened and _he_ walked through. His gaze looked over her face approvingly.

_You are better._

She nodded, swallowing hard. "The people here are kind to me."

He gave a humorless smirk. _Of course they are. I made sure of it._

Sansa did something just then that she wasn't sure she'd be capable of. She lurched forward, propelling herself toward the Night King. Imagine he's any other man, she chanted in her mind, stopping close to him.

"Thank you," she whispered, unable to control her voice. One shaky hand raised to his chest. Most of her expected him to punish her for touching him without permission, but when he didn't, she breathed a sigh of relief.

_Of course, he wouldn't_, she told herself. _He's already proven time and again that he wants me to touch him. He wants me to want him … and all that comes with it._

He sneered down at her, raising his own hand to grip her wrist hard. She winced but didn't pull away. Out of nowhere, he yanked her arm causing her to fall against him. She had to grab onto his shoulder to steady herself.

_You are mine_, he reminded her. _In whatever way I want._

She swallowed at the implications.

_It is time. I have waited long enough._

Before she could think or become more afraid than she was, he bent his head and claimed her mouth as his own. Barron Stark had felt human. She'd not been able to help but love their encounters. The Night King was nothing like him. He was cold and tasted … not human.

Still…

As his lips moved over hers, alternating between short kisses and long, deep ones, Sansa felt a small frisson of _something_ twist low in her belly. She remembered this. His mouth was foreign, but his movements and actions-his _kisses_-were all too familiar.

Barron Stark.

There was still something human in him, she realized.

The Night King twisted her around so that her back was toward the fire and broke off the kiss. He watched her without blinking and she found herself immobilized under his inhuman gaze. It was harder to lose herself in her emotions when she was looking at him. There was no escaping his visage.

A hand slowly lifted, cold fingers carefully moving to the laces at the front of her bodice. The dress had been delivered to her this morning at her request. It was a simple grey and blue garment, but clean and warm. The Night King tugged her laces free and it loosened around her.

Sansa shivered, but not from cold. She glanced down and saw the tops of her breasts bared. She wasn't wearing a corset so there was little left to shield her from him. When his hand brushed over one shoulder, the dress trembled on the peaks of her breasts and then fell, briefly pausing to gather at her hips, before it crumpled to the ground.

Belatedly, she realized it hadn't occurred to her to fight him.

He'd never seen her naked before. In her wanton dreams, she'd worn someone else's face, someone else's body. Now she was Sansa. Just Sansa.

His gaze slowly took in every inch of her-her face and the curve of her shoulders, from pale breasts tipped with coral to the thatch of fine red-gold hair at the juncture of long slim legs. He made a noise of approval in the back of his throat and reached for her.

Was she really going to do this? She should fight him, at least a little.

His fingers lightly traced the swell of her breast and she shivered once again. It was a strange sensation, feeling the heat from the fire at her back and his icy touch from the front. Another achy frisson of what she was slowly discovering to be desire swirled through her stomach. It was a foreign feeling to her, at least, when she wasn't dreaming.

His hand traced further down, over her ribs and stomach, to settle between her legs. She gasped and held onto his arm with both hands. Was she trying to make him stop or keep him in place? She didn't know. But he began moving his fingers back and forth, his cold touch against her wet heat causing all sorts of sensations. Her eyes closed. She could feel the muscles of his arm contracting under her hands and she finally dropped them to her sides.

He slipped one finger inside her and drew her close with his free hand. Sansa bit her lip as the squirmy feeling in her stomach intensified. Parts of his armor scraped her now-sensitized flesh and she unconsciously parted her legs to give him better access.

He stroked and rubbed faster until her head fell back and her nails dug into his arm. Her body shuddered its release, his fingers deep inside her, moving until he could feel she was done.

She gasped for air against him, her head now resting upon his shoulder. That had felt amazing, better than any dream or memory.

He smiled above her head.

When she'd regained her senses, he slipped his fingers out and backed away. More was to be done tonight than this simple pleasure. He began removing pieces of his armor, dropping them on the floor as he discarded them one by one. Sansa's eyes never left his body. It both excited and repulsed her.

Seeing him take his shirt off like a normal person was strange and he seemed to like her discomfort. His chest resembled protruding bones, like a shell of ribs over a concave stomach. The skin there was the same as his face and hands, mottled and icy blue.

She stared in horror and fascination.

He walked back over to Sansa and put her hand on his chest, right over his heart. His skin was cold and smooth like marble and she reflexively moved her fingers to touch it, shuddering at the alien feel.

Suddenly, she realized something was missing. "There's no heartbeat."

_No. My heart is encased in stone._

She remembered Bran telling her how the Children of the Forest made him. "Can't you take it out?" She dropped her gaze to his chest. "Doesn't it hurt?"

_Not anymore. The dragonglass is apart of me now. It will never come out. _

The Night King slid a hand over hers and then dipped his head to her mouth, surprising her with a kiss. Sansa closed her eyes and remembered how good it had felt earlier. She wanted that again. Her own lips parted to let him in, tentatively matching his movements. Desire pooled in her lower belly and between her legs, causing her to press against his chest. She couldn't help but shiver at the cold contact against her sensitive flesh.

_Bran…_ a voice in the back of her mind whispered. Was it her conscience?

He pulled her down in front of the fire, onto the rug on the floor. The time for restraint was over. He took her hands and brought them down low, to his hard length still encased in pants, and showed her how he wanted her to touch him.

Sansa slowly rubbed her hands over the bulging material as he deepened the kiss. The ache between her legs was growing and pressing her thighs together was not enough to provide relief. She stopped her movements and found the laces at his breeches. She tugged them free, much like he had done to her dress, and then wrapped her hands around his cock.

It felt different than Ramsey's had. Harder with more ridges. Would it hurt?

Suddenly, a image of the last time she was like this with someone rose to the forefront of her mind. It had hurt then, beyond imagining, and he had been human._ Sort of_. How much more would it hurt with the Night King?

She drew back, afraid, and the Night King noticed.

_Let me show you something_, his mind whispered to hers. _Something good._

He sat back on his heels and then stretched out in front of the hearth. With two fingers, he beckoned her closer.

_Come closer. _

When she did, with some hesitation, he took her and pulled her on top of him, so that she was straddling his chest. She gasped at the sudden cold against her inner thighs and the bony protrusions of his ribs. He acted quickly, sliding his arms under her legs and bringing her closer to his face.

Too late, she realized what his intentions were. It wasn't until his tongue was stroking and licking her most secret place that she even knew what was happening. She inhaled sharply, still sensitive from his ministrations before.

She almost came undone after only a few moments. She writhed and moaned until he pulled her backwards.

_What do you want?_

Her mind was haze of burning desire. She couldn't think straight. She needed something more, something to complete her. The Night King watched her through heavy-lidded eyes, his mouth glistening from the evidence of how much she'd enjoyed what he'd just done to her.

_I want more. _Without realizing it, she had reached out with her mind instead of speaking.

The Night King spurred to action, rising up and taking her hips with both hands to push her down to his cock. Sansa went to her knees, reaching behind her to place it between her legs, where she needed something the most. She did not hesitate and sank down on and around him, burying him deep within her. He thrust up, keeping one hand on her hip and the other pressed against her lower belly, as she slowly moved against him.

Sansa moaned, low and deep, rolling her hips how she liked it the most, shuddering with every spasm that told her she was close to finishing. The Night King, seemingly detached the whole time, now reached out to move her faster and harder on him. She opened her eyes and watched his face tighten, the knowledge that he enjoyed what they were doing as much as she did pushing her over the edge. Her moans and gasps filled the chamber. Her head fell back as he took over, thrusting up inside her hard and fast. His fingers dug into her thighs but she didn't notice in the midst of her own pleasure.

As she slowly came down from the high, a cold feeling pooled inside her lower belly. A rush of ecstasy rolled over her from head to toe, as if an aftershock from orgasm. Whatever it was, she relished the feeling, and, breathing fast and hard, straightened to look at the Night King.

When she opened her eyes, they were a startling, inhuman blue.

His mouth curved slowly.

**So, the last part I took from the books, when the Night Commander sleeps with that Other and "gives her his seed and his soul." I've actually had this in mind for awhile now, but I had to build it up to a somewhat believable situation for Sansa to just, ya know, get down on him. **

**Basically, in this story, Sansa had to come (no pun intended) to the Night King willingly. Giving herself to him is a way to be turned, BUT he could've turned her the other way too. He just didn't really want to. This is what he wanted all along. **

**Sidenote: NK was busy while he was gone. Tons more additions to his army of the dead.**


	11. Chapter 11

**I've outlined the rest of the story, and including Epilogue, I should be able to finish it in 10 more chapters. Usually, I hate outlining because it takes some of the fun out of writing what I already know will happen BUT I'm going to stay flexible. If it gets boring and I find I can't finish what I've got planned, I'll just rethink my ideas and start over. **

**Without further ado:**

_Braavos_

Gilly covered her protruding belly with one protective arm, while she held Sam Jr. in her other. Sam, her husband, held onto her while they navigated the busy streets of Braavos.

"Where is this man you're supposed to meet?" she asked, in a raised voice, over the noise.

"He sent a messenger with a note to meet him at the Outcast Inn. I still don't like the two of you coming with me."

"I'm coming," she said in firm voice. "When we're apart, bad things happen and there's no one we can trust to leave baby Sam with."

That was true, Sam reasoned. At least this way, their son would have both parents to protect him, should anything happen. And Gilly had proven herself capable of more than she looked.

Up ahead, there were the canals and from the directions he'd been given, the Inn was about half a mile east. "Hold fast to me, Gilly," he told her. Anything could happen in a place this big. People disappeared and were never seen again.

They moved and weaved in and out of crowds until Sam and Gilly stopped and looked around in confusion.

"I thought you said this was the place," Gilly murmured, looking around.

"I did."

They asked around and found out that the Outcast Inn wasn't even in the vicinity. "Dammit," Sam swore. Now they'd have to backtrack and figure out directions all over again.

"Lost?"

Sam turned and saw a woman dressed all in red. He swallowed hard. "No, thank you. Come, Gilly." After Melisandre, he didn't want anything from any of those Lord of Light bastards.

"Are you sure?" the woman asked.

"Yes." He looped an arm through Gilly's and tried to maneuver around the priestess.

"The Lord of Light knows all … _Samwell Tarly_." The woman emphasized his name and he stopped walking.

"How do you know who I am?"

"Like I said, the Lord of Light knows all." She turned away toward the canals and Sam could now see a temple in the distance. The Red Temple. "Come… Look into the flames and let him tell you his will."

"Wait a minute, we didn't get lost, did we?" Sam asked, frustrated. "You sent that messenger to give us directions _here_, instead of to the Inn. Why?"

She didn't answer but kept walking.

"Sam, what do we do?" Gilly whispered, holding onto him tightly.

"I don't know."

"Do you think this Lord of Light can help us against the White Walkers?"

"I don't know, Gilly." Sam sounded helpless and desperate. "But come on. We have to find out."

They followed the priestess to a boat and got in, Gilly clutching baby Sam tightly, and Sam sitting as far away from the woman as possible. The temple was an island, close to the canals and it didn't take long to get there. Some might think it beautiful, but it just gave Sam the willies. He remembered the stories he'd heard of Stannis and Melisandre, of them burning people alive.

His hand went to the dagger at his hip, just to make sure it was still there. He'd kill anyone who tried to hurt his family.

"You won't need that, Samwell," the woman said without turning her head. "We don't always need sacrifices."

"That's good to hear," he muttered and squeezed Gilly's hand.

Braziers were lit everywhere, outside and inside the building. The woman took them into a large room with an alter at the very end. A different woman stood in front of it.

"Annalys, I've brought them." The priestess stopped walking and turned to Sam. "Go to her. The others must wait here."

Gilly nodded for him to go and he swallowed hard and began walking. Annalys waited, dressed all in red, tall and regal. There was a small smile on her face.

"Greetings, Samwell Tarly."

He nodded, smiling weakly.

"You don't have to be afraid. I take it you are acquainted with some of our more … dedicated … methods." It wasn't a question and he didn't answer. She turned to a brazier, lit and burning bright and high. "Come."

He walked slowly up to stand next to her. "What am I supposed to see?"

"Whatever he wishes."

"Do you know what's happening? In Westeros?"

"Of course. The Lord of Light knows all."

Frustrated with that sentiment, Sam exhaled loudly and peered into the fire. Nothing happened at first.

"Relax," she whispered, coming up to look behind him. "Let your mind go."

He fought the urge to roll his eyes and tried to do what she said. Then something flickered. His gaze sharpened. "What was that?"

He got no answer. The fire drew him in, deeper and deeper. There were faces from his past, and places he'd never seen. The Night King storming King's Landing. Ice and fire. Ash falling. A dark and terrible place that he hoped to never go. A pale man with tattoos on his face.

"Asshai," Annalys whispered and Sam abruptly straightened, knocked out of his reverie.

"I don't know what it all means."

"Some of it was your past. Some was the present. The rest is your very near future."

"Asshai?"

"Powerful magic created this darkness and only powerful magic can undo it. You'll find what you need in Asshai." Her eyes trailed down Sam's face to his neck. "Now that is very old indeed."

He looked down in confusion and saw part of the Stark pendant sticking out of his tunic. "This? Yes. Somewhere around six thousand years."

Her fingers reached out. "May I?"

He gave a sort of half-shrug and she took the pendant and drew it out so she could further look.

"The Crow's Skull…" she murmured. "Interesting."

"The Night King wears this symbol around his neck," Sam informed her. "I think it's the Stark family sigil from before they founded their house in Westeros."

"You would be right."

"Can you tell me anything more about it? It might help … somehow."

Annalys stared at the pendant for a few more seconds and then dropped it back onto Sam's chest. "Guard that with your life, Samwell. It's more precious. Now go." She dismissed him and turned away to pray at the altar.

Sam awkwardly left to rejoin Gilly at the other end of the room.

"What did she say?" Gilly asked.

Sam just wanted to get out there. "I'll tell you on the way. Let's go."

XXXXX

_King's Landing_

She crept through alleyways and over rooftops, making her way to the Red Keep, effortlessly. The people of King's Landing milled around, trying to survive after being locked up inside the city gates. There were too many of them and not enough food or jobs.

But that wasn't her priority at the moment. Her priority was Cersei Lannister and stopping the monster who was on his way here now.

Arya found the queen at the top of the Keep, staring out of a window.

"Are you here to kill me?" the woman asked, without turning.

Arya stopped and stood still, keeping the the Mountain in her vision. Cersei turned around eventually, with an icy smile.

"I can't imagine you've come to join me."

"The army of the dead is on its way here. King's Landing will fall, along with you and your advisors. You must mobilize your armies and stop them before it's too late."

Cersei smirked. "Your Dragon Queen failed then, did she? I must confess, I was hoping to face her in person."

Arya swallowed, remembering what she'd seen. "Daenerys is one of _them_ now, as is her dragon." She waited a heartbeat. "As is your brother."

The sneer slid off her face. Cersei's eyes flickered. "Which one?"

Arya came a bit closer. "The one you like."

The queen turned away quickly, a hand going to her mouth in contemplation. "Jaime's dead."

"Not dead. Worse." Arya didn't miss the way Cersei's hands went to her belly. "There's still a chance to save your baby. Two dragons and the horde they're bringing will blow past these walls like they're nonexistent. King's Landing will fall."

Cersei turned back and gave her a look, snapping her fingers at the Mountain. "Come. We're leaving."

Arya wasn't sure she heard right. "Leaving? You can't leave."

"If you were smart, you'd come with me. I could use a girl with your … talents." Cersei hurried down the stairs with Arya right behind her.

"I came to persuade you to help your kingdom, but I can see I'm going to have to use more extreme measures."

Cersei laughed and waved a hand. Without warning, the Mountain turned and blocked Arya's path, sending her crashing to the floor. She scrambled up and looked at the giant about to crush her with his bare hands. "Not today," she mumbled and danced backwards, toward the only exit in the tower now available.

Arya evaded the Mountain's attempts to grab her and jumped onto the ledge of a nearby window. With a sneer, she flipped backwards and out of the tower. Heart racing, she grabbed hold of a ledge during her freefall and caught herself, pulling up and into some abandoned room. She fell onto the floor, breathing hard.

"I'm going to kill her."

XXXXX

_Just outside Hayford Castle_

Jon flew Rhaegal hard and fast, toward King's Landing. After Moat Cailin, he'd awakened alone. The Night King had taken his sister and the army and departed. There was only one place he'd go and that was to the last stronghold in Westeros. After King's Landing, the rest of the continent would fall with barely a whimper.

It had been days since Sansa had disappeared, and nothing had changed. He couldn't find Dany or Arya so he had to assumed they'd made it past the army of the dead and on to the capital. He'd warned everybody he'd come into contact with to go to the Eyrie, but it had been a pitiful few.

He'd done what he could and it hadn't been enough.

A sudden blast of icy wind sprayed his face and something massive knocked his dragon off balance. He shouted for Rhaegal to attack the Night King and they circled back, getting within range to fire, when Jon saw a black and red dragon, instead of the cream-colored one the Night King rode.

"Drogon," he whispered, eyes widening in horror. He hoped desperately that the Night King had simply acquired another dragon, but the last he'd seen Dany-and Arya, for that matter-she'd been riding Drogon south.

And sure enough, there on the back of the other dragon, sat the love of his life, silver-haired and now blue-eyed. She smiled cruelly and whispered something. Drogon opened his massive jaws and Jon barely escaped getting hit full force.

Diving down, out of the clouds, he urged Rhaegal into a retreat, turning east in an attempt to escape Dany. What was he going to do now?

XXXXX

_Iron Islands_

The icy, salt wind from the ocean sprayed in her face as she stood motionless on the beach. Sansa wasn't cold anymore. She felt … invulnerable. Like a rush of power had been granted her and she could do anything with it. Her emotions, the problems from before, all of it went away and what was left was purpose.

_We must go to King's Landing_, she said, feeling him come up behind her. He placed a hand on her shoulder and she turned. _That woman is there._

_We will take it as easily as we took the rest. Come. The dragon will bring us to the others._

Sansa took his hand and stepped up onto Viserion and settled in. The Night King climbed up behind, leaning into her, both arms on either side of her body. She smiled and pressed back, reaching behind to draw his head to hers. Viserion took flight as their lips met and arms entwined with each others.

She felt his immense satisfaction through their bond and deepened the kiss. _Soon our enemies will lay slain at our feet._

He answered, _And after that, the world._

**Don't throw things at me!**

**I know it was short and most of the POV's were NOT Sansa/Night King. I had to bridge the story and wanted to get the chapter up before too long. The next chap will have a lot more of the pairing we love.**

**A special thanks to everyone on the internet who came up with theories on the Night King and the pendant he wears. Without reading any of it, off the top of my head, I would've said it was the sun setting behind the horizon, BUT other theories suited this fic better, namely the ones about it being a raven/crow skull. There is an interesting theory that the symbol inside the design is that of a turret seen from below. I always thought it was an eye, if we're going with the Crow skull theory. It KINDA might look like one if you stretch. I welcome all theories. **


	12. Chapter 12

**Apparently, according to writers and directors of the show, Viserion wasn't breathing ice (which makes sense to me) he was breathing some new form of blue fire. HOWEVER, I believe that is not how I have written it so far and I don't want to go back and re-read everything I've said and written. So I've worded it vague but just in case, for the purposes of this story, the dead dragons are breathing ice, not fire.**

Blood. Ice. Screams.

It smelled and sounded like the sweetest music to Sansa's ears. She watched the city from a distance, seeing Drogon and Viserion fly in arcs overhead. Each took turns streaming blasts of icy blue down upon the inhabitants. The Night King's army took care of those who were left alive.

_Shall we?_

Sansa turned her head and saw her king at her side, hand extended. She slipped hers in it and they started off, toward the burning city. Every step was slow and sure, bringing them closer to the heart of King's Landing and Sansa's revenge.

Revenge wasn't quite the right word. Since her human self was in bits and pieces inside her mind, the girl that Cersei tortured was barely alive. Still, hate was a powerful emotion and that was probably a more apt description of what drove Sansa at the moment. Hate. Ice cold and clear.

No one touched them in the city. Wights hacked and tore at the living, ending their lives. The dead rose within seconds of falling and little by little the screams died away until there was nothing but the crackling of burning buildings.

The dragons screeched overhead and continued to circle until Drogon landed on the top of a tall spire, Daenerys on his back. Viserion followed suit at the opposite side of the city and they both waited for their king to give further orders. For now, the bloodshed, at least for them, was at an end.

The Night King and Sansa moved past the city and into the castle. She could recognize the place where she'd spend so many years in pain and torment. A small smile curved her lips as her feet planted one step at a time. The tower, the highest in the city, that was their objective.

Then she paused, cocking her head and sniffing.

_Not this way,_ she said, turning and going back the way they came.

The Night King chuckled, the sound ringing throughout her mind. He saw clearly what Sansa did, or rather heard it. A dozen or so heartbeats, thudding in terror in a room nearby.

His wights parted a way for him and Sansa, as they entered what used to be the throne room. A large hole in the side of the castle was blasted in. There on the floor were several men, inconsequential, and Cersei, standing behind them. She noted that the other woman's head was still held high with pride and … whatever else. It didn't matter. She would die soon. To her side, was the Mountain. He had no heartbeat.

Strange.

The queen's eyes widened in shock when they landed on Sansa. "Sansa? Is that you?"

_I am something more than Sansa Stark now._

The Night King halted behind her, raising a hand. Moments later, his people entered the room.

"Jaime," Cersei whispered, seeing his face amongst the others.

Jaime Lannister stood stiffly in line with the others, staring at the only humans left alive in King's Landing. No emotion crossed his pale face. To the side, Drogon landed with a loud scream and his rider alighted, walking into the throne room to take her place with her fellow soldiers.

_Kill them_, Sansa whispered. _Everyone but her._

The dead attacked, descending on Cersei's maester and the rest of her guard until there was nothing left. Finally, only the Mountain and the queen remained.

Sansa looked at him, a challenging spark in her eye. The dead quivered around him, ready to strike but knowing he was different. He was like them, only not.

_Tear his head off_, she ordered. _Feed him to Drogon._

Then Sansa stepped back to stand next to the Night King and watch the display. The Mountain relished the fight and showed no ounce of fear. Of course not. He wasn't a man anymore. Not really. He would live. Or he would die. It was that simple.

The dead overcame him, piling on until he could barely move. There was a loud cracking sound and then his body was still. The dead carried parts of him away. Outside the throne room, Drogon opened his massive jaws and ate him in one chomp.

Then it was just Cersei. The proud look on her face was gone. In its wake was only terror and just the tiniest spark of hope that maybe someone would still be able to save her. Her hands covered the swell of her stomach.

"Sansa," she began in almost a whisper, "I know I don't deserve it, but please, show mercy. I am with child." Her eyes darted over to her brother, pleading with him to save her, but he gave no indication he even saw her.

_Your child will never be born_, Sansa replied, holding out her hand. A sword was placed in it by someone-one of the Older Ones, maybe. She didn't know, nor did she care.

"You're not a killer."

_You still see me as the pathetic human I was. _Sansa gave the barest of tilts to her head. _No matter. You will not see for much longer._

Sansa walked slowly toward Cersei, who backed up the stairs until her knees hit the seat of the Iron Throne. She was trapped. Sansa raised her sword high and Cersei fell backwards, sitting on the throne with hard thud.

In the silence that followed, a tittering sound started then grew louder into loud laughter. It was coming from Cersei. Sansa paused and stared down at her. Cersei turned her head and looked up at the redhead, a smile on her face.

"_Was?_ All I see before me is the same weak and useless girl I knew from before." She laughed again and situated herself on the throne.

Sansa wasn't insulted. Instead she lowered her sword until the blade rested against the floor.

"This is your grand revenge? Well, get on with it," Cersei snapped, waving a hand around the throne room. "I suppose you've dreamed of this for some time now. Well, I wouldn't want to disappoint. How should I die?" she asked, a glint of manic laughter in her eyes. "Do you want me to scream? Should I cry?"

Everyone waited to see what would happen. Their kind weren't given to emotional outbursts, so the thought of Sansa being offended or enraged by this woman's words hadn't crossed their minds. But their newest member had paused.

Why?

Sansa didn't move for a few seconds. Then her head turned downwards toward Cersei. _However you want, I suppose._

Then one of her hands went to her throat. Her mouth opened and a scratchy unused voice came from it. Only one word was spoken aloud.

"Jaime."

She wanted Cersei to know what she was going to do.

_Kill her_, she ordered him. _Make it good._

Cersei's eyes widened as her brother, her most beloved brother, stepped from his place on the side and walked toward her and Sansa. Cersei tried to crawl backwards but the throne encased her on all sides.

"Jaime, what are you doing?" Cersei whispered, looking frightened once more.

Jaime didn't answer. One of his hands reached and grabbed her throat. Her sudden screams were cut off. Sansa watched with interest, noting the tears that poured from Cersei's eyes. Jaime reached back with his other hand, the golden one, and thrust forward hard.

Cersei's mouth opened in a silent O. A choking sound filled the throne room as Jaime released her throat. His arm, however, still lay buried deep in her chest. Her body quivered on the end of it until he finally stepped back and let her fall backwards onto the throne.

The Night King watched Sansa with relish, noting the way her mind raced with pleasure.

_Leave us._

Sansa looked down one more time at Cersei's body and then slowly turned, taking one step at a time toward her king. He met her halfway up the stairs. One pale hand reached out and took the material of her dress at her waist. His fist clenched around it, drawing her closer to him.

Over his shoulder, she saw the rest of their number departing from the throne room. The dragon flapped its wings and took off, carrying Daenerys with him.

Then the Night King wasted no time. He jerked her toward him, angling his head for access to her mouth. She opened it willingly, drinking him in. His hands slid up her arms to the neck of her dress, ripping it wide open and then tearing it off her.

She hadn't seen this side of him as of yet. He usually moved slow and even, taking advantage of her inexperience. This time he was practically savage.

She was on her stomach. The edges of the stone steps cut in hard against her body, but she didn't feel it. Blood traveling down from the corpse above pooled sticky and dark under her hands. She arched into his hands, brutal in their grip.

Had she been human she would have shivered in fear that he would tear her apart. As it was, aching wetness pooled between her legs, begging for him to take her.

The Night King went to his knees, not bothering to remove his own clothing, just the parts he needed to sate his desire. One hand deftly loosened his breeches and took his cock, stroking once, then twice, before leaning forward and positioning himself against her.

Her icy blue eyes took on a feverish quality when she felt him. One hand snaked around and under her, wrapping around her stomach. She felt every bump and scrape of his armor against her naked body as it molded itself to her and thrust forward. He buried himself inside her in one swift movement, her body quivering under his.

_Yes_, she hissed, arching into him. _More._

Hands clawed her hips and ass as he bucked and thrust into her until her body shuddered forward with every movement. Cersei's blood smeared over her breasts and shoulders, even the side of her face, but neither one cared. If anything, it made the situation more erotic.

Moments passed quickly, too quickly for Sansa. In her mind, a low moaning exhale echoed and his motions slowed as he came. Her frustration was palpable, but she turned over and drew him to her, uncaring that he was finished. She wasn't.

Sansa forced herself on him, ravaging his mouth with her own and drawing his hand between her legs. The torture of being so close to release almost hurt. He didn't need any guidance. His fingers moved swift and firm between her legs, bringing her quickly back to the high she'd been on before he'd left her so brutally cold.

Then his hand was gone and before she could protest, his mouth replaced it. Lips and tongue moved with expert precision and she wondered how the leader of the dead was so good at this. It couldn't be just his experience as a human.

Her moans echoed in his mind and he dug his nails into her thighs hard. The pain combined with pleasure sent her spiraling over the edge. Her vision blurred for a few all too short moments as spasms wracked her body. Then she collapsed backwards, her mind slowly reassembling itself.

Her king slid up her body, settling between her legs. He was already hard again. _I want more._

_Yes_. Her thoughts were sluggish, as if she were drunk. _More_.

As they began to fuck, slowly this time, a pair of dark eyes watched them from the shadows.

XXXXX

Arya backed away, making sure she wasn't heard.

Horrified by what she'd seen.

Sansa.

And _him._

Her sister wasn't human anymore.

Only one thought ran through her mind as she made her way through the Keep.

Find Jon.

_Find_ Jon.

_Find Jon. _

**This was so hard to write! And then once I did, the sex scene was even harder. But I wanted one in the aftermath of Cersei so I plugged on. This I can deal with. I wanted it to be amazeballs but this is just going to have to do. It's amaze-meh. LOL**


End file.
